An UnFlair Fight
by Bob Wright
Summary: COMPLETED. The first in a planned series of Golden Age stories. Ric Flair and Freddie Blassie will do anything to get the title off Hulk Hogan-even if it's illegal and dangerous...
1. Chapter 1

AN UN-FLAIR FIGHT

BY

BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the first in a planned series of stories that would basically be considered "The New Adventures of Hulk Hogan's Rock 'n Wrestling." They are set at an unspecified time during the 80s-early 90s golden age of the sport, encompassing essentially "a year in the life." Kayfabe will be more or less in effect in this series, although real life will occasionally be brought into the mix as well, with a few actual WWF storylines from back in the day being adapted every now and then. While of course real persons will be brought to life in this series, and a few real life traits will be shown every now and then, their portrayals here are more or less fictional, and all character personalities are copyrighted by World Wrestling Entertainment, all rights reserved.

This series is dedicated with respect to the memories of:

-Andre Rousimoff

-Randy Poffo

-Elizabeth Hulette

-David Boy Smith

-Sherri Martel

-Freddie Blassie

-Richard Rood

-Curt Henning

-Ray Traylor

-John Tenta

and all the rest of the greats that made the Golden Age of wrestling so entertaining that are no longer with us. And now, as usual, sit back and enjoy the series.

* * *

><p>NOT THAT LONG AGO IN AN ARENA NOT THAT FAR AWAY...<p>

It was crunch time. Ten more lifts in just thirty seconds to meet his self-appointed goal for this last workout before the big match. But Hulk Hogan knew it was something well within his reach.

Straining with all his muscles, he pressed the barbell up over his head repeatedly, trying to block all other thoughts out of his mind. And so, he had in fact completed twelve when the soft, slightly Southern voice gently called out "Time." With a deep breath, he let his spotter take the barbell off his hands and looked upwards. "You think I'm ready?" he asked knowingly.

"Hulk, I'd be willing to say you're in the best shape of your career right now," the very lovely Elizabeth Hulette told him with an encouraging smile. She turned to the right. "Nice work on the spotting, Tito; now let's see what you can do. Hulk, switch with him."

"Gotcha," Hulk rose off the bench press couch and let a ready to go Tito Santana lay down for his turn. Before he could hand him the barbell, however, the door to the main training room swung open wide. "The Madness says dinner's here, ooooooooooooooh yeah!" came the eager shout from behind the large stack of takeout boxes obscuring the newcomer's face.

"Over there on the table, Randy; we're not quite done yet," Elizabeth pointed to the one in the corner.

"And I'm not done either, 'cause I got something else on the way back, too," the boxes went down on the table, revealing the shaded face of Macho Man Randy Savage. Digging through his pocket, he stepped forward towards Elizabeth. "I know I've given you a lot of these lately, but I'd say the best wife in the world deserves nothing less, so..."

He produced a stunning diamond necklace from his pocket. "Oh Randy, I...you didn't have to..." Elizabeth stammered gratefully as he attached them around her neck.

"Oooooooh yeah I did," he pulled her close, "I wanted you to look the best tonight when I skin that snake Roberts on national TV for you."

The two of them kissed. Hulk smiled warmly. "He really does care for her, doesn't he?" he asided to Santana on the bench press table.

"Absolutely, amigo," Santana nodded firmly, "But between all the jewelry and the fancy dresses he gets her every other week, I don't know how they stay solvent."

"Well, they are solvent, and if we helped in any way, all the better," Hulk glanced around the room with a satisfied expression. Indeed, ever since the Mega Powers had formed, Hulette's Wrestling Emporium had taken off once word had gotten around that the biggest and most popular stars in the World Wrestling Federation worked out there. Even now, he could see the kids on the other side of the glass looking in at their heroes getting in shape.

But not just any heroes. The best of the best in the business. Since word had gotten around that many of his most adamant foes had been forming together a super group to take down the Mega Powers, Hulk had decided in conjunction with Savage to form their own super alliance of wrestlers, men who believed in the same values they themselves now did. And since then, the "Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection" (Savage had bristled at such an ungamely name at first, but had since warmed up to it) had easily become the hottest ticket in all of wrestling.

Assembling the dream team had been at times easy and at times challenging. But Hulk had had one name on the list from the very start: his idol since he started in the business, Andre the Giant. Although the big man's career was starting to wind down by now, he was still a force to be reckoned with, and indeed on the other side of the ring, the oversized French wrestler was almost yanking the weights off the machine every time he pulled the bars with his immense strength. Another key component had been obvious from the start as well, not least of all given his current standing as Intercontinetal world heavyyweight champion, and inside the large practice ring in the center of the room, he was now leaping off the top rope in a blur of pink and black. Scion of arguably the best wrestling family in the world, "Hitman" Bret Hart had been rocketing up the ranks ever since he'd gone single and was now hovering around the number one contender position. While Hart had in fact been more than open to joining, though, he had insisted his brother-in-law be invited as well as a precondition. But that had been no problem for the Mega Powers, for the British Bulldog Davey Boy Smith, kicking the flying Bret off himself in the ring, was also of top notch caliber.

Other talent had auditioned, but not all had fit the criteria he and Savage had laid out. Slowly but surely, the field had been winnowed down to four addition team members. Santana, as part of a previous alignment with Hulk not too long ago, had two runs as Intercontenal Champion, and had been chosen for durability (and besides, Hulk knew, the athetic Mexican needed some communal arrangement after the violent breakup of his former tag team recently). Doing chin-ups along the near wall, Ricky "the Dragon" Steamboat had just returned to active action following a sabbatical for his son's birth, and thus had almost missed the cut, but he had indicated that if they'd waited long enough he'd be eager to join (although he did still have some reservations being on the same team with Savage, the two of them having a not all that pleasant background dating from before Savage had met Elizabeth). And Hulk himself had been reluctant to hire the two remaining team members, who had once been brutal rivals to him, but he had since been convinced Rowdy Roddy Piper and the Big Boss Man had fully reformed themselves into better people, and thus had decided to bring them on. Still, as he watched them bench pressing nearby, it did feel strange to a degree working with people who once wanted nothing more than to kill him. But nicer people they had indeed become-and under Elizabeth's informal tuteledge, it seemed they'd become even better than before (Savage, though, declined to let his wife directly manage anyone else in actual bouts-he had in fact been quite firm about this, although so far Elizabeth didn't seem to mind).

The boisterous Scotsman now eager tossed the barbell to the floor-almost on top of the Boss Man's foot, in fact-as Savage called out, "Come and get it!" to the rest of the team and galloped over to the table by the front window ahead of everyone else. "Just a hamburger?" he looked supremely disappointed as he opened the carton in front of his seat.

"Well come on, Roddy, we can't be too much out of shape for tonight's show," Hulk reminded him, sitting down across from him.

"But I'm not even on tonight's show!" Piper all but whined, "I wanted something full course!"

"Well consider it advance advice for next month's Summer Slam," Savage grumbled at him, "And besides, the kids don't want a fat Piper to sign the autographs for, right?"

He gestured at the eager faces still pressed against the glass not far away as Elizabeth went over and opened the door. "OK everyone, we're going to have a little dinner now; once we're done, you can all come in for the autographs," she told them all gently, pulling the curtain over the window shut for privacy. "I never get tired of this," she remarked with a smile, sitting down next to her husband and taking out her hamburger, "No matter what everyone else thinks of us, we're heroes to them."

"Oh absolutely," Andre agreed between chomps of his king-sized hamburger, "Without the fans, what we do isn't worth anything."

"Well you'd probably draw anyway, Andre," Steamboat patted the Giant on the back, "I'd say all of us are still basically clinging to you, even Hulk."

"Well, I'm not sure about that, Rick; as world champion of the biggest wrestling organization in the business, I think Hulk's carved out a pretty good niche of his own; Mathilda, here you go, girl," Davey held out a piece of bun for his pet bulldog, who eagerly came scurrying out of the corner to take it.

"But with all due respect to Hulk, Andre put wrestling on the map in the first place," Bret interceded, somewhat reluctantly handing his own piece of bun to the bulldog as well, "And what we really all have to thank is Tunney's efforts in trying to promote us to a wider audience; some day, people are going to look back and commend him on being a visionary."

"Amen," Hulk nodded with another bite; there was no denying that WWF President Jack Tunney had been running one of the best businesses in the industry ever since he'd taken over. Unlike the rough and tumble atmosphere of the other territories, the WWF's focus on family and fair play had been a consistent winner over the last few years.

There came a knock on the door. "Uh, sorry to intrude, everyone," Elizabeth's assistant Amanda stuck her head in, "But Okerlund's here for the interview with Hulk on the main event tonight, and then they want to shoot the promos for the intro afterwards."

"Well send them in, then," Hulk rold her. Moments later, the familiar figure of Mean Gene Okerlund squeezed through the door, microphone in hand and a cameraman in tow. "Hulkster," he greeted the world champion warmly, "This shouldn't take too much of your time; just something they wanted to run before the match."

"Just show me where you want me, Mean Gene," Hulk nodded.

"OK, uh, right over there by that stack of weights should be good," Okerlund pointed. Hulk sauntered over towards it and waited until the camera had white balanced (off Steamboat's robe) and focused. "We're here at the now popular Hulette's Wrestling Emporium with WWF world heavyweight champion Hulk Hogan as he prepares for what might be the biggest title defense of his career; Hulkster, are you worried at all about the claims that Nature Boy Ric Flair has made claiming he's the real world's champion?"

"Well you know something, Mean Gene," Hulk grandly proclaimed, "Ric Flair has certainly talked the talk, but so many other so-called contenders have failed to walk the walk when the time came to stand in the ring with the Mania. Tonight, the Nature Boy will feel...!"

Without warning, the door to the primary training room was shoved open behind them. "...told you, you can't come in here!" Amanda was protesting ineffectively to the intruder.

"Cork it, toots," the old man in the loud purple suit pushed past her, then turned the camera lens towards himself with his cane. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the REAL world's champion!" he declared emphatically, "Who tonight will make...!"

"Blassie, this isn't your segment!" Bret rose up indignantly, followed by the rest of the team, "So get...!"

"The REAL world's champion, Ric Flair!" Classy Freddie Blassie ignored him and pointed grandly towards the door with his cane. "WOOOOOO!" came the shout as the bleached-hair wrestler in the black, diamond and feather encrusted robe spun through the door. "Well, well, face to face at last, big man," he cockily sized Hulk up, "Tonight, the running ends on Saturday Night's Main Event, and it'll be a pleasure when I hoist your belt high and add it to my collection. Then, all the dumb stupid kids will have a real hero to look up to, the REAL world's champion, WOOOOOO!"

"Well now wait a minute, Ric Flair!" Okerlund cut in, "Hulk Hogan IS a fine hero for the kids! And furthermore, I don't think he's been running from you at all, not when he has so many other contractual obligations to...!"

"Let me tell you something, Okerlund, you pencil-neck geek!" Blassie cut in, seizing the microphone, "We all know full well that dolt Jack Tunney is protecting this Benedict Arnold here," he gestured contemptuously at Hulk, "Since when has he ever had a REAL challenge since he stole my belt off my man the Iron Shiek...?"

"YOUR belt?" Hulk was enraged, "It's not YOUR belt, Blassie; it belongs to no one but whoever can actually earn it!" he gestured at the title around his waist, "And you and the Iron Shiek certainly didn't earn it when...!"

"Of course I earned it, Hogan you chump; I spent thirty years in this racket trying to earn it!" Blassie roared back at him, "And Ric here is so much more better than you; he's actually won in the other territories when it counted...!"

"Sure, Blassie," Bret stepped forward, frowning, "If you call pulling every cheat in the book to get his titles earning it..."

"And I have a belt to prove it," Flair undid his robe and removed the admittedly impressive golden belt entitled RIC FLAIR: REAL WORLD'S CHAMPION on it, "It's better than your belt, Hart, and yours'll look a whole lot worse when I have the WWF title to compliment it. And now that I'm with the best and classiest manager of them all," he put an arm around Blassie, "I can guarantee the public," he smiled confidently into the camera, "That tonight's match will be one that will be remembered for years to come, as the end of Hulkamania for good, WOOOOO!"

"Well a lot of people would disagree with that, Ric Flair; in fact, I for one see Hulk Hogan remaining champion," Okerlund said defiantly.

"Oh really, Okerlund? Well no one here asked for your opinion, did they?" Blassie gave the reporter a sharp poke with his cane. "I've been looking forward to this for a long time," he glared Hulk down, "Tonight, Hogan, the real world's champion will get me what's rightfully mine back and ruin your career for good, which is what happens to all traitors. Let's go, Ric; I think we got our point across."

"Gotcha," Flair, though, stayed put, staring cockily right at Elizabeth. "Sure aren't keeping good company today, are we?" he almost taunted her.

"Ric, please, just leave," she told him bitterly.

"Oh I see, I'm no longer..." Flair was cut off as Savage leaped up and seized him by the robe. "The lady said get outta here, Flair," the Macho Man threatened him, "Or would you like to go through your match tonight with a Macho Madness hangover, yeah!"

"Oh, I'm really scared by..." Flair abruptly did turn scared as Andre rose up behind Savage, towering over all three of them with a scowl. "Uh, Freddie, wait for me," he hastily backpedaled out of the room after his manager. "All right, folks, you saw it right here; bad blood between the champion and challenger even before the match starts," Okerlund regained his composure and turned back to the camera, "Needless to say, this should make the match all the more exciting; now, back to ringside."

He took a deep breath as he signed off. "I swear, Blassie's people just seem to be getting crazier and crazier every day," he remarked softly to the cameraman.

"Well don't you worry, Gene, they ain't coming in here again if they know what's good for them," Piper said confidently, flexing his muscles.

"Thanks, Roddy, that makes me feel at ease," Okerlund said, looking a little uneasy around Piper as well, "Uh, intros..."

"Right, we're ready. Hold these, Roddy," Bret handed his shades to the Scotsman and trotted over to a blue screen wall against the far corner. His face twisted into a determined expression as the camera's light went on. "Ted DiBiase, you keep going on and on and on about how your money makes you better than everyone else," he said firmly straight into the camera, "Well tonight, it'll be my pleasure to take you down a few notches, and no amount of money's going to save you this time when you are, on national television, excellently executed."

He looked a little hesitant once the camera's light went off. "Was that intense enough?" he asked the cameraman, "I wasn't over the top...?"

"Nope, that should cut it, Mr. Hart," the cameraman nodded, "Mr. Macho?"

Savage eagerly bounded over to the blue screen, Elizabeth in tow. "Jake 'the Snake' Roberts, they say an elephant never forgets; well the Macho Man don't forget either, yeah," he growled furiously at the camera, "I'll never forget the poison running through my veins, but I especially won't forget or forgive you putting your slimy hands on Elizabeth! You hurt her, and you embarassed her, and tonight what goes around comes around, yeah! (he flung his shades away and glared furiously into the camera, pointing straight at it) Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Macho Man; vengeance is mine!"

He "danced" triumphantly away as Hulk confidently replaced him for the finaly promo. "Real world's champion, Ric Flair? Don't make me laugh!" he all but snorted at the camera, "You may have a fancy belt, but it's clear you don't believe in the prayers, the vitamins, and the training, or anything that really matters! It's put up or shut up time, Ric Flair, and whatcha gonna do when the 24-inch pythons run wild on you!"

He struck a strong, muscular pose. "OK, excellent," the cameraman flashed Okerlund a thumbs up.

"All right, thank you everyone," Okerlund congratulated the group, "And good luck with your matches tonight."

"Thank you, Gene," Elizabeth told him in turn, "And on your way out, let the kids in; I promised them it's autograph time."

"Certainly," Okerlund told her. "Ah, I like this job, Rob," he confided in the cameraman as they held open the door for the throngs of kids now streaming in for autographs, "Especially with Hulk and his team-not those OTHER guys..."


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you mean the answer's no? You all but told me yes last week!" ranted the hyper man in the music note-encrusted suit and piano key dark glasses next to Blassie in the EXTREMELY stretched limo over the phone, "So? I don't care if he's your dad; when Jimmy Hart makes you an offer, he...and that's it, then, no...oh, all right, I understand. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to reach me."

He slammed the receiver down. Unbelievable, just unbelievable!" he raved to everyone else in the back of the limo with him, "Another prospect pulls out just because his dear old daddy tells him I'm not trustworthy! It's like I've become a plague, some kind of plague; they can't do this to me, not the Colonel Jimmy Hart!"

"Hey Hart, it's not the end of the world because you lose a single recruit, so calm down before you have a hernia," snorted the sleezy-looking black haired woman across from him, taking a sip from her glass of champagne.

"What am I supposed to do, Sherri; they're turning me down left and right these days!" Hart refused to let go of it, "The territories are dying in case you didn't notice; soon there won't be any talent to lock up anymore, so I'm trying to snatch up what I can before that day comes; how else am I going to take it!"

"With patience, Jimmy, with patience," Blassie was much calmer next to Hart, "Patience landed me Ric here," he patted his prize protege on the shoulder, almost making Flair choke up his own glass of champagne, "And it'll get you and the rest of us something good too in due time, right Bobby?"

He turned to the oily man in the blue jacket to his left, busy downing his own champagne glass. "Huh? Oh, uh," he abruptly let out a loud burp, "Right, of course. Still, Jimmy's got the point that there's less of a pool to choose from these days since we went national," he looked a little glum, "I tried to hire Nick back; he said no..."

"He's too old anyway; why are you even bothering, Heenan?" Sherri retorted, pouring herself another glass of champagne.

"Hey for your information, Martel, in case you forgot, Nick and I made beautiful music together way back when," Heenan pointed out emphatically for her, "He's not just some ham-and-egger off the street he's..."

"Everyone, everyone," came the haunting strains of the sixth member of the group, a pale-faced, well dressed man clutching an urn, "Fighting is getting us nowhere. After all, we agreed to work together to achieve our goal."

"Absolutely, Paul, there's no reason for all the shouting," Blassie agreed, sizing his colleagues up. In his quest to get back at Hogan for taking the world title off of him, he had not long back reached out to his fellow managers for mutual assistance. They had agreed, and together had drawn up plans to create the biggest super-stable of wrestlers the world had ever seen, picking for its members the best of their own stables. And already, the group had been reaking havoc on a scale that was frightening. Of course, it did help that they had several different levels of behind the scenes backing...

"Haven't you had enough already, Bobby?" he chided Heenan as his colleague started to pour another glass of champagne for himself, "Don Vincenelli doesn't like his guests dead drunk for visits."

"I'm sober enough, Freddie," Heenan burped loudly again. Rolling her eyes, Sherri snatched the bottle off him. "For your own good," she told him firmly.

"You owe me one, then," Heenan shot back. He pressed the nearest intercom button. "Hey Ted, any more cheese crackers up there?"

"Coming right back upon request, Mr. Heenan," came the pompous voice on the other end. Moments later, the door to their compartment opened. "Take as much as you want, all of you," the bearded man in the fancy, dollar sign encrusted suit wearing the gold and diamond plated championship belt said, holding out a tray of cheese crackers, "Anything for the friends of the Million Dollar Man."

"Sure thing, Ted, and thanks for the ride again," Heenan eagerly snatched a handful of crackers off the tray and downed them in one gulp, "And how about some caviar too?"

"Too much food at once could be very...deadly," Paul Bearer warned him.

"You're far too 'grave,' Bearer, if you get my drift," Ted DiBiase let out a loud laugh as he elbowed the mortician jestingly in the shoulder. "Virgil, some more caviar for our good friend the Brain," he called to his bodyguard by the limo's small kitchen.

"Wait, never mind, here we are," Blassie noticed they were approaching a large set of gates-their business partner's private residence. "Time to meet our benefactor, Ric-well, our other benefactor," he jerked his head at DiBiase, taking the caviar tray off of Virgil and handing it to an eager Heenan.

"Just so I know, Freddie, if I don't win tonight, he won't..." a little bit of nervousness crept onto Flair's face.

"Oh no, no, Ric; Don Vincenelli only kills the people who are his outright rivals," Blassie laughed jokingly as the limo lurched forward through the gates.

"Down in Memphis, though, they'd chew you up and spit you out if you blew the match, though," Hart chimed in.

"Well this isn't Memphis, Jimmy; I've known Don Vincenelli's family for over thirty years; they got me to where I am today, so I think all of us are pretty much safe," Blassie said confidently.

"For now," Hart still looked a little nervous.

"Relax, Jimmy; like I always say, everyone has a price for the Million Dollar Man, including the mob, so if things ever got rough, I'll just find his price," DiBiase said with a grin, Besides," he gave Hart a sharp pat on the back, "I wouldn't let anything happen to the best manager money can buy."

"Speaking of buying," Heenan spoke up again with another burp, "I still think our little conglomerate could have had a better name than the Million Dollar Corporation, Ted; it doesn't really strike fear into the hearts of Hulk and his humanoids..."

"Well, I bought the naming rights, Heenan, so what I say pretty much goes," DiBiase laughed again as the limo slid to a stop, "And now, business."

"All ashore," Bearer joked, rising up. The seven of them, plus Virgil, walked up the center of DiBiase's limo, past the kitchen, the spa, and the pair of matching billiard tables before reaching the door. A loutish-looking young man in a pullover was waiting outside. "So glad you could come; he's in the library," he told them, gesturing at the palacial manor house behind him.

"He is in a good mood today, your uncle?" Heenan asked wearily, "Not that I'm complaining, Stefano, but having read in the paper the other day about the guy that was shot eight times in the alley..."

"Once my uncle lets off some steam, he's A-OK, Mr. Heenan. Mr. Flair, so nice to meet you face to face at last," Stefano shook the Nature Boy's hand, "We've been following your career through the territories; Mr. Blassie's praised you to the moon; if anyone can take down that clown Hogan, it's you."

"You bet I will, because nothing stands in the way of the real world's champion and the crown, WOOOOOO!" Flair let out another bellow of his trademark phrase. Stefano led them into the manor and down the hall to a door marked PRIVATE. "They're here, Uncle Kenny," he said out loud.

"Bring them in, Stefano," came the raspy voice from within. Blassie immediately caught the heavy whiff of cigar smoke as he crossed the threshold. It was no surprise; Don Kennedesco Vincenelli was a notorious chainsmoker. In the dimness of the room-the shades of which were drawn-he could make out the outline of his underworld benefactor in his office chair, facing the drawn window away from his guests-paranoid about being found out and turned in, the don preferred that no one outside his organization ever get a clear look at him. And the office was in fact deserted apart from his own bodyguard Patrizio, a beast of a man sadly born without a personality, glaring straight ahead at the newcomers as if he were sizing them up. "Close the door, Stefano," the don ordered his nephew. "Gentlemen, and Ms. Martel, nice to see you all again. Killer was hoping you'd be punctual; glad he wasn't disappointed," he held up his pet porcupine, then began stroking it, "You do have some more payment, I presume?"

"Absolutely; when the Million Dollar Man makes a business deal to his benefit, he keeps it; Virgil," DiBiase nodded to his bodyguard, who silently slid a briefcase onto the table. Without turning around, the don opened it and examined the huge stack of money inside. "Very good, DiBiase; this covers everyone," he said affirmatively, "Have a seat, everyone."

The group plopped down into plush armchairs all around the room, apart from Virgil, who stood guard behind his boss's chair. "Mr. Flair, it's so good to see someone who shares my views on getting the job done no matter what it takes," Don Vincenelli angles a mirror toward Flair's face so he wouldn't have to turn and face him, "Attacking your contenders backstage, in the parking lot, even in anonymous home invasions; I appreciate a contender who goes the extra mile. I'm hoping that includes whatever it takes to get the WWF world heavyweight championship belt tonight."

"Oh, trust me, I have some pretty nasty thought brewing right now, mister," Flair nodded eagerly.

"Good. Act on them," the don lowered the mirror, "Because the current World Wrestling Federation is making me look bad, very bad, Mr. Flair," he rose up and started pacing, still keeping his back to his guests, "Freddie may not have told you exactly how far I reach, so I might as well do it myself; I control directly or indirectly twenty-one wrestling territories throughout this great country of ours..."

"Twenty," Stefano piped up from the back of the room, "You traded the northwestern one last week for the hot car ring and the major league coke lab in Texas, remember Uncle Kenny?"

"Stefano, did I ask you to speak up?" his uncle told him gratingly, "Number one rule, keep your mouth shut if you don't got nothing nice to say." He began pacing again, "Running a major league wrestling gambling organization is a heavy job, Mr. Flair; I have suckers all over the country placing bets on matches with my top agents every night from coast to coast. It's tough work keeping my competitors at bay, so with the WWF going national a few years back, I knew it would help my organization to move in and take it over. But Jack Tunney, he's a man with principles; he turned down every offer I made to buy him out, then threatened to shut down my whole operation if I ever came so much as a foot with his arenas again-he's got too much of his goody-goody uncle in him; Frank didn't know what was best for him either. Then he outlawed fight fixing in the WWF; I can't make a profit if I can't control the matches, now can I? And now, Tunney's trying to turn wrestling away from the rough housing, trying to market everything to a family audience..."

"Which I think is a total crock myself, Don Vincenelli," Hart emphatically spoke up, "I mean, who really cares what the damn little kids think; you step into the ring to beat the other guy half to death and win the gold, not to..."

"Thank you, Jimmy," the don cut him off. "I'm starting to look bad, Mr. Flair," he told Blassie's protege, "My rivals are starting to laugh at me that I'm being shut out of the big market of the national tour; with the profits the WWF is pulling in these days, I could retire a multi-billionaire. So as long as Tunney has leverage, I'm locked out of the picture. So what I need is more leverage against him, and if someone working for a manager who works for me were to win the title, I could put the screws to him more. So, can you win the title, I have to know?"

"And I get rewarded good for it?" Flair asked.

"You get rewarded beyond your wildest dreams, Mr. Flair."

"Then the title's yours, big man," the wrestler proclaimed confidently.

"I'll believe it when I'm holding it," Don Vincenelli wasn't counting his chickens just yet. "Now as I told the rest of you," he addressed the managers, "I can only really leverage Tunney if I have all three championship belts..."

"And my own Million Dollar Belt, of course; it's not my fault Tunney refuses to sanction it officially," DiBiase gestured at his fabulous creation.

"Well if I do take over, Mr. DiBiase, it will be sanctioned. Anyway, Bobby," he turned towards Heenan, although his face wasn't visible in the darkness, "I'm still waiting for an explanation on what went wrong in the Intercontinental match last month..."

"It wasn't my fault!" Heenan protested nervously, "Mr. Perfect won that match fair and square; Bret Hart pulled the singlet when he snapped on the sharpshooter!"

"Funny the tape doesn't back that up," Sherri snorted, "His hands are nowhere near...!"

"Then Tunney altered the video to save his own hide!" the Brain all but shouted, "Mr. Perfect's still the real Intercontinental champion, Don Vincenelli, and it's only a matter of time before he gets the belt back to cement it; he's got a return date with Hart at Summer Slam next month all but booked, and you know Perfect; he won't rest until he gets the title back."

"I certainly hope so, Heenan, for your sake," their benefactor hissed softly.

"Don't worry about that, Don Vincenelli, I'll help Bobby with that any way I can; Bret Hart's been saying slanderous things about me ever since he walked out on me; I've vowed to get him back in the end," Jimmy Hart added, "And when Ted here takes him on tonight, I can guaranteed the Million Dollar Man will be the proud holder of two titles."

"I hope so, Jimmy. Also, Heenan, your boys Arn and Tully have the next shots at the tag team belts, am I right?" the don turned back to the Brain.

"Yes indeed, my Brainbusters are chomping at the bit and ready to give Demolition a taste of their own medicine," Heenan proclaimed confidently, "And as an old friend, Ric's prepared to give any assistance they need."

"Oh yeah," Flair nodded. "And," he rose up, "I just had a brilliant idea on how to make sure Hulk loses tonight; I pulled the same trick a few years ago to get the territory title in Jacksonville on a smaller scale."

"Don't look at him in the face," Blassie warned his top man as Flair approached Don Vincenelli and whispered his plan in his ear. The crime lord let out a soft laugh, then turned and whispered it to Patrizio, who let out a barely audible chuckle of his own. "I like the way you think, Mr. Flair," the don told him warmly, "And in fact, I can help supply it for you..."

There was a low gasp from Bearer, who was looking at his watch. "I'm late!" he gasped again, "I've got a funeral to handle in fifteen minutes!"

"Well then, I guess this meeting's done," Don Vincenelli said softly, "I'll see you all again in a month; just put someone on the corner near that Hulette lady's place to pick up the delivery..."

"What's the plan, so I know?" without looking at his benefactor, Blassie approached him. The don whispered Flair's idea in the manager's ear. Blassie laughed out loud. "That'll teach that turncoat Hogan a thing or two, and Tunney won't suspect a thing," he snickered, "We'll get some people on it. And you enjoy the match tonight, Don Vincenelli. Let's go, people."

He led everyone out the door, Heenan arguing with Hart, "That's Perfect's title, Jimmy; if he doesn't get it back soon, he's going to throw a fit the size of..." "So what's the plan, Uncle Kenny?" Stefano asked him.

"You'll see tonight, Stefano," his uncle picked up the phone. "George, it's the boss," he ordered, "Go on down to my private storeroom and get a little something for me..."


	3. Chapter 3

"Here you go, little dude, straight from the Hulkster himself," Hulk happily handed the boy in front of him his autograph. It gave him a warm feeling inside to see the child smile as he received it, as he felt when his autograph gave a similar reaction to any child. It meant he was making some kind of difference in the world.

"Here, one for you as well," he signed one for the girl approaching him next. The line was starting to thin out now, but there were still enough kids left to keep every member of his team occupied. The girl in fact now doubled back to Bret and offered the paper to him to sign as well. "My Mom says you're handsomest man in all of wrestling, Mr. Hart," she told the Hitman.

"Well thank you, Miss..."

"Ashley, Ashley Pindal."

"Well, Ashley, I'm sure your mom's one of the prettiest women in town too. Oh, and Ashley," he removed his shades and slipped them over her head, "Have a good evening."

"You never get tired of that, do you?" Davey asked knowingly next to him.

"Nope, so it's a good thing I always pack spares," Bret opened his jacket to reveal several rows of identical shades. He fished out another set as another boy approached his brother-in-law. "Does Mathilda give autographs too?" he asked the Briton.

"Well, I suppose she'd be willing to. Come on girl, this'll only take a minute here," Davey hefted the bulldog up off the floor and pressed her front right paw to the paper, "There we go, good as..."

"Uh, Liz," Amanda stuck her head in the door, "Phil Rafting from Pro Wrestling Illustrated is here for the Mega Power interview."

"Oh no," Elizabeth slapped her hand to her head, "I forgot all about that! Do we have time...?" she scanned for the nearest clock.

"Looks like just enough," Bret nodded, "The quicker, though, the better; I'll try not to hold us up given they asked for me too."

"All right," Elizabeth rose up. "OK, we'll have to cut it off now; we have some things to take care of," she told the kids, "But we'll still be open for another half hour if you want to keep working out outside. Thanks for coming."

She helped to usher the remaining autograph seekers outside. "The rest of you might as well head for the arena then; after all, you'll be wrestling before we go on the air," Hulk told the rest of his team, "We'll catch up as quick as possible."

"You know, some day, we're going to have to do this together," Piper griped half-jokingly as everyone else gathered up their personal belongings and filed out the door.

"We will, Roddy, we will," Savage assured him. He leaned closer to Hulk and mumurred, "Of course, none of us could get a word in edgewise if he were involved."

Hulk nodded softly; Piper was a natural at taking over conversations and working them to his advantage; still, he wouldn't have the wild and crazy Scotsman any other way.

He became aware of someone crying outside the training room as his cohorts vanished out the door and an admittedly sloppily dressed man filed in, notepad in hand. "Mr. Hogan, Mr. Savage, I'm Phil Rafting," he shook each of their hands in turn, "And Mr. Hart, given your rise since you've gone solo, I'm not surprised that you've become essentially a third Mega Power..."

"No, no, I don't consider myself another Mega Power; Hulk and Randy have that all sown up," Bret chuckled softly, "But yeah, I suppose I have become pretty big with the Mega Power Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, so I guess..."

He stopped as the door opened again and Elizabeth gently led a sniffing, bleeding boy in. "...don't let them bother you, Timmy; I think you were doing just fine," she was assuring him, "Why don't you come sit with us during the interview? That's something they can't say they had. Everyone, this is Timmy; a couple of the older kids were picking on him in there; I figured some time with us would help him a little."

"Well it's good to meet you, Timmy," Hulk eagerly shook the boy's hand, making him smile, "So who's you're favorite wrestler of all?"

"Uh, I kind of sort of like the guy with the big spear and shield," Timmy admitted.

"Kamala? You've got to be kidding; he ain't got no talent at all; they just plucked him straight outta the jungle to..." Savage started complaining.

"Well I think everyone's opinion should matter, Randy," Bret reminded him, "Just because we're the biggest names in the business doesn't mean we should have the monopoly on fan adulation."

"Well you are pretty good," Timmy did concede to them, "And she's really pretty," he pointed at Elizabeth.

"Why thank you, Timmy," she blushed. "You want a glass of water or anything?"

The boy nodded. "All right, I'll get it for you and some bandages," she told him, leaving again. "Yep, she's the prettiest one in the world, Tim," Savage agreed with the boy, "Nobody even comes close."

"Amen. Come on up here, Timmy," Hulk gently lifted the boy onto his lap, "Maybe you might provide some answers for the article too."

"How?"

"Oh, you never know. OK Mr. Rafting, fire away," the world champion told the reporter.

"All right, Mr. Hogan, Mr. Savage," Rafting consulted his notes, "It's been about a year since the two of you formed the Mega Powers. How does it feel to have become a phenomenon?"

"Unbelievable, like we're right on top of the world, and there ain't no way to stop us," Savage proclaimed grandly.

"And yet, the two of you used to hate each other with a passion, I recall," the reporter pointed out to them, "We all know how you put aside your differences, but were there any bumps in the road to getting to be formal partners?"

"Well you know something, Phil, Randy really wasn't a bad guy deep down; he was just under the wrong influence at the time," Hulk patted his partner on the shoulder, "And since I know a few things about that myself, that I let the wrong guy influence me, I..."

"Not you, Hulk," Timmy shook his head. A look of humility came over the champion. "Well, I am better now, Timmy, but looking back, when I first came here to the World Wrestling Federation, I wasn't such a nice guy; how old are you?"

"Eight."

"You probably would have been too young to remember, then. It started after I lost out on another title on a fluke, far away from here..."

* * *

><p><em>FIVE YEARS PRIOR... <em>

_"...given the evidence at hand, it is therefore my decision to strip Hulk Hogan of the AWA world champion and return it to Nick Bockwinkle," AWA president Stanley Blackburn announced to the press before his podium, "I am also booking the two of them for a return match to decide..." _

_"Forget it!" an outraged Hulk rose up from his seat next to the podium, "That's twice in the last year you've found a way to cheat me out of the title, Blackburn! I think you and Bockwinkel are in this together to keep me from the belt!" _

_"Calm down, Hogan, I have done nothing of the..." _

_"Well you can keep it then; I quit!" Hulk flipped the podium over and stormed off the stage in a rage. Out in the hall, he picked up a garbage can and flung it hard into the wall. It just wasn't fair at all... _

_"You're right, you know," came an oily voice from behind him, "They never will appreciate you, never." Hulk turned slowly. "Well, well, Classy Freddie Blassie, fancy seeing you here," he greeted the manager. _

_"So my reputation proceeds me," Blassie walked towards him, "I think what they're doing to you is a disgrace, Hogan. You should be a world champion. And it so happens I'm looking for a new star in the WWF, one that'll blow away the competition. I think you're the man, Hogan." _

_"Really?" Hulk's eyes lit up. Blassie was easily the most famous manager in all of wrestling; to work with him... _

_"Absolutely. Come with me, Hogan, and I'll take you all the way to the top," Blassie extended his hand, "You'll reign at least five years, I guarantee it." _

_Hulk thought it over for a moment, then shook Blassie's hand. "When do I start?" he asked. _

_"Right away. You'll be champion by the end of the month, I promise you that," Blassie assured him as they walked off together as partners... _

* * *

><p>"Now surely, Hulk, you had to have heard the stories about Blassie's crookedness," Rafting asked him with raised eyebrows.<p>

"I'd heard the rumors, Phil, but I thought they'd been overblown; you know how things get to be exaggerated in the wrestling community," Hulk admitted, "I knew Blassie had consistently trained winners, even if none had won the world's title yet, and I saw him as the quickest ticket to a world championship. So I blindly followed him at first. In fact, we were quite close; I heard him say on the phone once to a colleague that not only was he sure I'd win the title soon, but that he thought I was like the son he'd never had."

"I see," Rafting seemed a bit surprised by this, "So, when did you first start to see through him?"

"I'd signed a match with Andre," Hulk told him, "That was a dream come true; as a kid growing up in Venice Beach, I watched all of Andre's matches; he made me want to become a wrestler in the first place, so to actually step in the ring with him was beyond exhilarating. Of course, Andre was undefeated back then, and I suspected I probably wouldn't win, but I'd give it my all. Blassie, though, was determined to end the Giant's winning streak at all costs..."

* * *

><p><em>Hulk jumped up on Andre's back, trying to pull the Giant backwards. Andre swayed, but managed to stay on his feet. He then grabbed Hulk and flung him halfway across the ring, right to where Blassie was standing. "Come on kid, snap to it; he's killing you in there!" the Classy One upbraided him. <em>

_"I'm doing all I can, Freddie," Hulk protested as Andre came over and hauled him back up for a quick slam, then dropped the shoulder on him. Blassie growled in frustration. "Hey, you stupid French buffoon, your mother wears men's underwear!" he shouted at the Giant. _

_"What!" an enraged Andre pushed Hulk aside and stormed over to the ropes, "What about my mother, Blas-!" _

_In a flash, Blassie nailed him in the chest with his cane, then swept his feet out from under him. "Cover, cover!" he shouted at Hulk, who after a stunned second fell on the Giant, only for Andre to kick out at two. Furious, Andre hefted him as he prepped for another cover and hurled him to the other side of the ring, but before he could get up to follow, Blassie seized his leg and pulled it underneath the ropes. "Cover!" he hissed to Hulk after checking that the ref didn't see this. Hulk hesitated at first, but fell on Andre again, but again only got a two count. Andre suddenly began howling as Blassie whacked hard at the leg with his cane repeatedly. "Freddie, what are you doing!" Hulk was dumbfounded at this new tactic, "I don't want to...!" _

_The discussion was rendered mood as Andre twisted free with a another roar and stumbled towards Hulk, his arms outstretched to strangle him. Without really thinking, Hulk seized the Giant around the waist to hold him at bay, strained to lift him off the ground, and, when a tremendous crowd cheer indicated he had, slammed Andre down to an absolute roar. He quickly fell on his opponent, and this time did get the three count. He breathed a relived sigh as his manager rushed in and lifted his arm in delight, shouting, "You did it, kid; nobody ever slammed the big guy before!" But he wasn't paying attention to Blassie; he could see Andre moaning in clear agony and clutching his injured leg. "I'm sorry, Andre; I didn't mean..." he started to stammer, guilt sweeping over him. _

_With another howl, Andre swiped at him with a gigantic hand, forcing him to retreat backwards out of the ring. "Don't mind him, kid; he's just a sore loser," Blassie was oblivious, "There's no way they can deny you a title shot after this...!" _

* * *

><p>"Andre was on crutches for two months afterwards," Hulk recalled somberly, "No one had ever seen him like that before; he got really bitter, too. The guilt that I'd helped to do that to my idol got worse and every day, and Blassie made it clear he felt no shame at all, that he'd do it all over again and worse if necessary."<p>

"And yet you didn't leave Blassie until after your first title match, I recall," Rafting pointed out, "What made you stay that long?"

"I still wanted to believe in the man, that what had happened with Andre was just a fluke because of his presumed invincibility," Hulk told him, "I didn't know Blassie's obsession with the world title, though; twenty-two years as a professional wrestler himself, plus thirteen more as a manager, and not one title win, a fact that gnawed at his very soul day in and day out. I was his last best hope, and I was going to get it for him no matter what...

* * *

><p><em>World champion Bob Backlund was a worthy opponent. He slipped out of Hulk's grasp and tried to pull him into a sunset flip. Hulk slugged him in the face to break it and dropped the shoulder, but Backlund kicked out at one. He flipped the champ into an Irish whip, only to be ingloriously kicked in the face. He kicked out himself the moment Backlund went for the cover, then tried to roll away as he was<em> _stomped on. "What are you doing in there!" Blassie hissed from behind him, "That's not how I trained you to handle him!" _

_"He's too good, Freddie, I think...!" Hulk was cut off as Backlund flipped him into the turnbuckle and charged towards him. Hulk leaped aside at the last minute and Backlund rammed into the post hard. He hung up there in agony as Blassie waved Hulk over. "All right, we'll exercise the nuclear option here," he whispered, pulling something out of his pocket, "Get him over here once he recovers; I'll light up his life and get us that title." _

_Hulk knew full well what the device was for; creating fireballs. And he knew the damage they could do. "No," he shook his head softly, "Not like that..." _

_"Do you want that title or not!" Blassie unexpected roared at him, "You're with me on this or you're not, Hogan! I've waited too long to lose the belt because one of my guys chickened out! Now do it! Here he comes now!" _

_Backlund was wearily getting to his feet; he'd be over in a second, Hulk knew. He glanced at Blassie, fireball device in hand, then back at the champ, and thought hard... _

_...and came to an easy decision: he climbed out of the ring and started walking back towards the dressing room, oblivious to the referee beginning the count and Backlund shouting at him to come back. "What are you doing!" an incensed Blassie barrelled into his path, "Get back in there now and...!" _

_"No," Hulk told him firmly, "I won't be a real champion if I win that way. I quit, Freddie!" _

_He started to walk off again at the exact moment the referee reached ten and called for the bell; he'd been counted out. Blassie let out a roar of carnal rage behind him. The next thing Hulk knew, his manager jumped him from behind and started pummeling him right in the middle of the aisle. "That was my title, MINE!" he shouted angrily between blows, "You're nothing, Hogan, you hear me, nothing! And you're fired!" _

_"I said I quit!" Hulk pushed him away as several federation officials rushed out to break up the assault, "You want to hurt people to win the gold, Blassie, do it with someone else!" _

_He started walking away again. "Yeah, go on and walk out; you're nothing without me, Hogan!" Blassie roared out one final epitaph as he disappeared behind the curtain, "You'll regret this day as long as you live, when you realize you could have been a champion; you could have been the greatest there ever was...!" _

* * *

><p>"...as I understood later, Blassie threw my locker clear out the window after I'd cleaned it out and told the rest of his stable never to mention my name in his presence again," Hulk recalled, "And his mad desire to have the world title got even hotter; he started going global in his quest to find the perfect challenger. I guess part of him was heartbroken that his surrogate son, me, had turned on him..."<p>

"What did you do after that, Hulk?" Timmy asked, clearly engrossed by the tale.

"I went to Japan to try and get away from it all," Hulk told him, "Luckily, while I was there, I came across the great Japanesse trainer Hiro Matsuda. He told me he'd seen some of my matches on TV and thought I had quite a bit of talent, but was just lacking that little something extra. And that's when he offered to help take me up to the next level. I agreed, and spent about a year under his wing, improving my skills. And just when I had reached my peak, I happened to catch a glimpse of the action back home and saw exactly how far Blassie was willing to go to win 'his' title..."

* * *

><p><em>Hulk frowned as his watched the grainy action on the dressing room TV set backstage at the arena in Kyoto. Blassie's newest sensation, the all-Iranian Iron Sheik-perhaps fittingly a former bodyguard of the Shah before he'd been deposed-was taking Backlund to the limit, flinging him hard back and forth into the ropes. Still, Backlund was showing quite clearly that he wasn't giving up without a fight. In fact now, the champ reversed off the ropes, clotheslined the Sheik and hooked him into a cross-face chicken wing as the crowd went crazy. Unfortunately, he was standing too close to the ropes, and Blassie took the opportunity to reach in and trip him with his cane, breaking the hold. Incensed at the interference, Backlund dove through the ropes and started chasing the Classy One around the ring. "Careful, Bob; he could be leading you into a trap," he mused at the set, noticing the Sheik was shouting at the ref in what looked like a clear attempt to distract him. <em>

_He was proven exactly right when Blassie, now crouching down behind the corner, hit Backlund with the fireball he'd failed to in Hulk's earlier match, the referee not noticing due to the Sheik's arguing with him. Howling, Backlund staggered around the ring clutching his face. Blassie rolled him back into the ring and whistled at the Sheik, who rushed over to the champ and proceeded to slap on his dreaded camel clutch-reportedly a maneuver that had been used to torture many of the Shah's political prisoners over the years. Still, despite the agony of the hold, Backlund fought it for all it was worth, holding out without submitting for a whole two minutes before his manager, fear all over his face, finally threw the towel into the ring, triggering the bell. A glare twisted onto Hulk's face at the sight of his former manager and his new protege leaping around the ring in delight, taking turns raising the belt. "It's not going to last, Blassie, I swear it..." he vowed under his breath... _

* * *

><p>"...what really upset me was that Bob never actually submitted; he should never have been declared the loser," the present day Hulk recalled firmly, "Seeing them cart him out on a stretcher afterwards was sickening to watch."<p>

"He was OK, wasn't he?" Timmy looked concerned at this.

"Let's put it this way, Tim; with what the Sheik did to his back, it might just be another ten years before we see him again," Savage shook his head grimly, "A sad ending for a real true competitor."

"And like Hulk said, since he never submitted, whoever is holding the title when he's ready to come back is probably in big trouble," Bret mused out loud.

"Here you go, Timmy," Elizabeth returned with a glass of water and some bandages, "Sorry it took so long; I really need to clean this place up and label things better."

"That's OK, Miss Elizabeth," Timmy forgave her. He took a drink of water and turned back to Hulk, "When did you go back to face them?"

"Well, first I had a few matches in Japan that I'd signed," Hulk told him while Rafting continued jotting down notes, "But Blassie and his tainted victory worked on my mind the whole time, and I was determined to teach him a lesson about fair play. So about a month later, a seat back to America finally opened up, and..."

* * *

><p><em>"Please welcome the World Wrestling Federation champion, the Iron Sheik!" Gene Okerlund told the arena crowd, who heartily booed the new champion and his manager as they strolled arrogantly out to the interview platform. "Iron Sheik, you've finally reached the top of the mountain, and yet, some people will say that you don't deserve the championship..."<em>

_"The American wrestling fans are all full of scorpion dung!" the Sheik hissed into the microphone, "I've won fair and square; Iran, number one; U.S.A., phooey!" he spit on the ground contemptuously. _

_"That's right, the Sheik is the real champion, and nothing these pencil-neck geeks can say will take it away!" Blassie declared proudly, lovingly rubbing the belt around the Sheik's waist, "I've waited so long for this; isn't somebody going to bother congratulating me on finally managing a world champion?" _

_"Not by what the video replays show you doing to Bob Backlund, Freddie Blassie," Okerlund scolded him, "And given the terrible shape doctors are saying Backlund's in right now, don't you and the Iron Sheik feel the slightest bit of remorse for your actions?" _

_"Why should we feel bad about anything; we're the champions, and nobody's going to stop us from here on," Blassie predicted, "And furthermore..." _

_Suddenly a loud roar rose up from the crowd as Hulk came stomping up the aisle towards his former manager and the champion, a determined expression on his face. Blassie, though, seemed nonplussed. "Well, well, Benedict Arnold Hogan returns," he sneered at his former protege as Hulk joined them on the platform, "If you've come crawling back, Hogan, forget it; I found a REAL champion now," he put an arm around the Sheik, "I have no need for you anymore, period."_

_"You can't call yourself a champion, Blassie!" Hulk demanded at him, "And neither can you, Iron Sheik!" he roared at the champ, "Burning a man in the face isn't cool at all! You tarnish this belt just by touching it!"_

_"Well there's not much you can do about it, Hogan you dog, is there?" the Sheik taunted him._

_"Oh yes there is, and that's why I'm here. Iron Sheik," he leaned right into the Iranian's face, "I challenge you for the world championship!"_

_Both the Sheik and Blassie burst out laughing. "You're even stupider than you look, Hogan!" the Sheik mocked him, "To think you have even a scarab's chance of beating me in the ring...!"_

_"Is that a yes or no!" Hulk demanded._

_"YES!" the champ shouted in his face, "To shut you up and get you out of our hair! Ladies and gentlemen," he addressed the crowd, "It is our pleasure to present to you, one week from now, the quickest and most useless championship match in the history of wrestling._

_The crowd almost unanimously booed him down. "Shut up, you pencil-neck geeks!" Blassie roared at them all, amplifying the boos. "I'll give you credit, Hogan, you do have guts," he conceded to his former pupil, "But it's going to be the pleasure of a lifetime to watch you lying prostrate on the mat when the Sheik here ends you for good next week, because I've worked too long and hard to lose MY title at the hands of a nutball loser like you! See you next week!"_

* * *

><p><em>ONE WEEK LATER...<em>

_The Sheik was proving a tougher champion than Hulk had anticipated. As the powerful Iranian flung him hard into the corner, then pancaked him, he wondered briefly if he'd bitten off more than he could chew..._

_"No," he told himself mentally, "This man had to cheat to win the championship, Hogan; you're better than him any day."_

_Such a point, though, seemed moot as the Sheik powerslammed him hard to the mat. "That's it, that's it!" Blassie shouted excitedly to his new man from outside the ring, "Finish him now! Camel clutch now!"_

_Hulk tried to crawl away, but to no avail; within seconds the Sheik had the dreaded camel clutch clapped on and was pulling away. "Are you giving up, Hulk?" the ref was leaning in his face._

_"Never!" he vowed, trying to fight back the tremendous pain as the Sheik pulled harder. It was almost unbearable, and no man had ever escaped the camel clutch before, ever..._

_There would be a first time for everything, he vowed..._

_He strained with every ounce of his being, trying to put every remaining bit of strength left after the brutal encounter into breaking the hold. And slowly but surely, he started rising up. "What-What's happening!" a stunned Sheik pulled the clutch as hard as he could. But Hulk had the momentum. Before the eyes of the now roaring crowd, he stood completely up and charged backwards into the ring post, breaking the Sheik's grip. The cheering was deafening, and he could feel the energy flowing through his veins. He was gaining strength._

_"Iron Sheik, Hulkamania's running wild on you right now!" he roared to the champ, delivering a kick to his midsection. The Sheik decked him square in the face, but Hulk hardly felt it. His eyes flashing, he shook his finger in the Sheik's face, flung_ _him into an Irish whip, then planted a boot sqaure in the champ's face. He grabbed hold of the ropes and shook them hard, feeling the power getting even stronger..._

_"Here, DQ, we'll save it that way!" he heard Blassie cry out, and turned around just in time to see the Sheik swinging the Iranian flag at him. He ducked the blow, wrestled the flag off the Sheik, and with a wild expression ripped the banner of oppression clean in two. Now panicked, the Sheik tried to run, but Hulk grabbed him, picked him up and powerslammed him in turn. Now all he had to do was seal the deal. He rushed into the ropes directly opposite from Blassie for enough momentum, then on the snapback leaped high over the prostrate champ and dropped his legs square on the Iranian's chest. Exuberant, he hooked the Sheik's leg as the ref started counting. He saw in the corner of his eye Blassie frantically charging into the ring to try and break up the pin, but the ref's arm hit the mat for the third time before he could reach the two men. The bell rang loudly. "No!" the manager gasped in horror, now rooted to the spot, "No, it can't be...!"_

_"Ladies and gentlemen," came the ring announcer's voice, "The winner of this bout, and NEEEEEEWW World Wrestling Federation champion, Hulk Hogan!"_

_"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Blassie sank to his knees, howling at the top of his lungs at the overhead lights. Hulk could barely contain himself as the belt was pressed into his hands. "YEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHH!" he roared in delight, thrusting it skyward to a tremendous ovation. The wait had been worth it in the end. He was now king of the world. And it felt better when, over the cheers, he could just make out the announcer grandly declaring, "Ladies and gentlemen, Hulkamania has arrived...!" _

* * *

><p>"And that's how I became world champion," Hulk finished the tale, "And I was glad Andre forgave me afterwards, understanding that Blassie did most of the damage to him. Although, of course, Blassie still hasn't given up trying to get 'his' title back; that's why he's formed the Million Dollar Corporation against us. Of course, like I said, Randy also lost his way for a little while, right Randy?"<p>

"Sort of," Savage confessed, "Although clearly it turned out for the better in the end," he smiled at his bride.

"You used to work in your father's own organization for a while, I recall, Mr. Savage," Rafting said, taking some more notes.

"A few, yeah," the Macho Man nodded, "I even held the ICW title a couple times. But eventually I started wanting more, to be someone really big in the business, and when Tunney announced he was taking the WWF national, I wanted to be a part of it. Dad didn't agree; I was his biggest star, and he knew he could go under without me. We had a couple of big arguments over it towards the end."

"So you did jump anyway?"

"To be honest, Phil, he was starting to talk me out of it, yeah, but then a certain former woman's champion who was shifting over to managing stopped by the ICW offices one day and lathered praise all over me. She told me I was the best she ever saw, and she could guarantee an instant WWF world title shot, and that I should just forget about Dad, that he was holding me back. I fell under her spell and believed everything she said, so despite Dad's attempt to tell me she wasn't no good, I told him off and stormed out with her, and so the Macho King was born."

"I do remember when you were with Sherri," Timmy told him, "You kind of scared me back then."

"Yeah, Tim, when I look back now at what I was with her, I scare myself too," Savage admitted somberly, "I wanted to be somebody big, and I didn't care who stood in my way; of course, Sherri egging me on didn't help either. But being carried to the ring on a throne made me feel on top of the world, and I felt like a real king, that it was only a matter of time before they'd have to put the belt on me."

"When did you start to change?" Rafting asked him.

"The night I made Ricky Steamboat's life a living hell," Savage said grimly, "It was just about the point I was putting him through the wringer and giving his wife nightmares for the rest of her life..."

* * *

><p><em>Savage merrily dove off the top rope, delivering a hard elbow to a prostrate Ricky Steamboat outside the ring. He then stepped back for Sherri to kick the Dragon a few times. "Over here with him," she pointed to the barriers. <em>

_"Oooooh yeah," a dark smile crossed Savage's face. He dragged the limp Steamboat over and hooked his neck around the top of one metal barrier, ignoring the fans in the front row screaming at him to stop, and climbed back up to the top and waited until Sherri had taken her position holding Steamboat's head in place before jumping again, coming down hard on his opponent's back. Steamboat immediately staggered backwards, clutching his throat; he was gasping to breathe. The bell rang; the Dragon had been counted out. But Savage didn't care; he smelled blood. A total demolition of the top contender for the world championship guaranteed he would take that spot and have a crack at Hogan... _

_"Here," Sherri shoved the ring bell into his hands as she flung the gasping Steamboat into the ring. Savage grinned in triumph. He climbed back up to the top rope again, blocking out the horrified screams of the fans as they pleaded with him not to do what they guessed he was going to do. He reached the top rope, raised the bell high, and prepared to dive... _

_When he noticed a face in the crowd. An especially lovely face; the loveliest he'd ever seen, in fact. Sure, she looked repulsed by what was about to happen, but that didn't detract from her in any way. For a moment, he stood frozen on the top rope, staring... _

_"Jump, you fool; he's getting away!" came Sherri's shout that brought him back to reality. He glanced down to see Steamboat starting to crawl away. In a flash, he leaped off the top rope and smashed the Dragon clean in the throat with the bell. Immediately, Steamboat started turning purple as he clutched his throat harder; he was trying to speak, but no sounds were coming out. He couldn't breathe at all. The referee took one look at Steamboat's condition and frantically waved medical crews up the aisle with a stretcher. The bell rang repeatedly to try and restore order. "The mighty Dragon, his fire extinguished for good," Sherri taunted the gasping Steamboat as he was hastily pulled onto the stretcher and wheeled out. "Come on, Macho, we've got a number one contender spot for...what?" _

_"Oh, uh, nothing, nothing," Savage said quickly, but he was still staring towards where he'd seen the face, "I, uh, I think I've got something I'd like to do after I'm dressed..." _

* * *

><p>"You were immediately smitten with Elizabeth, then?" Rafting asked him.<p>

"Love at first sight," the Macho Man proclaimed proudly, "There were still three matches after me on the card that night, so I figured I'd wait by the front gate for her; I couldn't really explain what I felt at that moment; I'd never felt it before. I was hoping we could hit it off. Turns out I almost got hit..."

* * *

><p><em>There she was, coming towards the turnstiles, on the far side of the crush of fans leaving the arena. Savage slowly walked towards her. "Hey there, wait up," he called out.<em>

_She came to a stop, but did not turn to look at him. "What do you want?" she asked bitterly._

_"I saw you out the crowd tonight; I wasn't planning anything later tonight, so I was wondering..."_

_"Are you coming on to me!"_

_"All I'm asking is..."_

_"Absolutely not!" she spun and roared at him, making him jump back in shock, "What you did in that ring tonight was just appalling! I passed by the dressing room on the way out; the other guy can't say a word; you completely crushed his vocal chords! His wife is in hysterics; he's going to have to relearn how to speak, they're saying! I hope you're good and proud of yourself!"_

_"I...I...I..." he wilted under her glare, "I was just trying to win the match..."_

_"By almost killing your opponent? That's barbarism, not atheticism! So the answer's no! And if I were you," she pointed her finger straight into his face, "I'd think your life over very hard!"_

_"But...but...I always wanted to wrestle..."_

_"Then make your life count by doing it. Otherwise, you don't deserve to be a champion at all," she finished icily, "Good night."_

_She stormed off, leaving a stunned Savage behind. For the longest time, he just stood there staring after her. "You in there?" came Sherri's voice in his ear._

_"Oh, uh, yeah, uh..."_

_"What's with you?"_

_"She turned me down..."_

_"Forget about women; we're concentrating on the title," Sherri turned his head towards hers, "Now, I just spoke with Tunney; the bad news is, he found some ridiculous reason to fine us fifteen thousand for what Steamboat forced us to do tonight; the good news is, you're the number one contender now. You face Hogan for the belt in a month on the next Saturday Night's Main Event. So we've got to get you ready."_

_"Right, sure," ordinarily, this news would have thrilled Savage to no end, but her words still rung in his head: MAKE YOUR LIFE COUNT..."_

* * *

><p>"It roiled in my mind for weeks on end," Savage admitted to Rafting, "As the big match got closer, I could only think of her and what she'd said. Eventually, I vowed to track her down, and so after asking around, I finally did..."<p>

* * *

><p><em>"Hulette's Wrestling Emporium," he read the sign on the building's facade. For an old building, it didn't look half bad; a few coats of paint could restore it to new. He took a deep breath and adjusted the false beard he'd put on for an incognito disguise as he stepped inside, worried she'd toss him back out given how she'd reacted when he'd first met her. He couldn't take another rejection by her again.<em>

_She wasn't immediately in sight, though; in fact, the building looked more or less deserted. It did, however, look like a reasonably good place to work out at; plenty of weight stations, exercise bikes, wrestling mats, and the like. She'd certainly taken the time build up a good business, he mused. It was just a shame no one seemed to be around to enjoy it..._

_"Excuse me, sir, can I help you?" came another woman's voice from behind him, making him jump slightly. "Oh, uh, just looking around," he told the bespectacled woman staring puzzledly at him, "I may want to sign up for a course or two."_

_"That's good," she looked almost relieved, "We haven't had that many full-time members here in a while. Name?"_

_"Mario; Mario Randall," he murmurred as the phone rang in one of the offices. The woman bustled off to get it-just as he started hearing kids cheering and roaring down the hall. He slid down it and looked inside. Indeed, there she was, refereeing two boys wrestling with each other on the mat in the middle of the room, other kids cheering them on. One of them now picked the other up and slammed him hard. "No, no, stop, stop, Andy," she waved her hands wildly, bending down to examine the victim and nodding when it was clear he wasn't injured. "What have I said; you can't give in to the anger no matter how much you may not like your opponent," she scolded the aggressor. _

_"But half the guys wrestling on TV clearly hate each other; they go for broke in their matches," Andy protested. _

_"Well they might, but I don't here, remember that, everyone," she looked around at the other kids. Savage looked away as her eyes swept towards the door and started randomly examining some weights on a nearby rack, hoping he didn't look suspicious. "Wrestling is not about trying to kill or maim the other guy; wrestling is about reaching inside yourself to find a better you," she continued, "Through the process of athetic competition, you dig down deep and find yourself. It's about reaching your deepest potential, and it ALWAYS includes showing respect for your opponent, no matter how..." _

_"Liz," her assistant came walking past Savage and up to her, looking grim, "The bank's on line two; it's pretty bad."_

_Elizabeth's expression crashed. "I'll be right back," she told the kids, then bustled off to her office. Savage continued to examine the weights to avoid looking suspicious. Then he noticed an unused office to the right, next to her own. Checking to make sure no one was looking, he slipped inside it, crouched down behind the desk, and picked up the phone as subtly as he could. "...told you again, Miss Hulette, you have three weeks to come up with one hundred thousand dollars, or we're foreclosing," a stiff, formal voice was saying._

_"I've told you, I can't possibly raise that kind of money in that time frame!" Elizabeth sounded desperate._

_"Well that's not our problem, is it?" the bank official said smugly, "If you hadn't spent so much trying to make a profit out of a wrestling hall for kids, of all things, you wouldn't be in this mess. Have a nice day."_

_Savage gently put the receiver down at the same time as the caller to avoid suspicion. He pressed his ear against the wall to listen to her now talking with her assistant. "...can't lose this place, Amanda; I've put my heart and soul into it!" she was still desperate._

_"Well where else can we go?" Amanda asked. There was a long silence before Elizabeth said, dismally, "I have no choice; I have to call HIM."_

_"But you said you'd never speak to him again after he slept around on you. And how could HE possibly have...?"_

_"It's a long shot, I know, but he is world champion in the Carolinas, maybe for old time's sake," she sounded resigned. Savage waited until he heard her dialing her phone again before picking up his receiver once more. "...it's me," she had started saying, her voice etched with pain and hurt, "I know I said..."_

_"Weeeeeell, this is a surprise, baby," Savage was surprised to hear Ric Flair's voice on the other end, "So, for all that talk about how you never wanted to see me again, you've finally come crawling back like..."_

_"Listen to me," she said firmly, "I need help, Ric; I need a hundred thousand dollars in three weeks, or I lose the emporium."_

_"And how am I supposed to help with that?"_

_"I don't know; no one else will lend me anything; this is my last chance, Ric, please! I've waited my whole life to run this emporium...!"_

_"Well you wasted your life if you ask me," Flair's voice rose up, arrogance and a clear-cut lack of remorse dripping all over it, "And you wasted a call, because I have no need for sleezy ex-girlfriends who hit me in the face and scream that I'm lower than dirt..."_

_"Ric, please don't start again!" she was angry now, "You are lower than dirt for cheating on me ever chance you got when we were together; I wouldn't be making this call if I had anyone else to turn to...!"_

_"Well then I got one thing to say, baby: see you on the welfare line, WOOOOOO!" Flair grandly told her off, hanging up in a flourish. Savage lowered the receiver back down to its cradle. He felt a tinge of sadness to hear her crying hard in her office next door now. If_ _only there was something, anything he could do to help her..._

* * *

><p>"That's pretty sad," Timmy mused, glancing around the gym, "How'd you save this place then?"<p>

"I wracked my brain long and hard, trying to think of the best way to do it," Savage told him, "At first I couldn't think of anything, and as her deadline got closer, I got more and more worried there wasn't nothing I could do. During that time, I started hearing rumors Sherri was helping herself to big parts of my paychecks to pay for lavish dinners I wasn't invited to. Then, two days before this place would have been foreclosed, with the knowledge I was being stiffed swirling in my mind, I overheard her on the phone to another manager, gushing over how she'd hit the lottery big: five hundred thousand big ones. Part of me didn't want to go that route, but if Sherri was stealing from me, it seemed like a fitting way of handling the whole thing. So I searched her office while she was out with Jimmy Hart going over battle royal strategy-she never locks it in the first place-and found the ticket laying right on her desk. I took it down to the lottery store and cashed it-they knew I worked with her, so they assumed she'd sent me-then brought the money here after dark and slipped it through the night mail slot, thinking the place was deserted."

"I was in the office, lamenting about how I'd poured everything into running this place," Elizabeth spoke up, "Then I heard the money coming through the slot. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw what I'd been given. Randy was too far up the block to hail down by the time I looked outside, but I remembered back to what I'd said earlier in the month, and, although it took a while, realized who would have been most likely to have made such a donation."

"But another week went by and although I was glad to see Hulette's Wrestling Emporium would remain open, I didn't hear from her at all," Savage went on, "Finally, the big match with Hogan arrived. Unbeknowst to me, a certain somebody was in the audience. But I didn't see her this time, and midway through what was a pretty brutal match, the tide started turning in my favor..."

* * *

><p><em>Hogan was reeling. Savage hit him with rights and left, and the champ had nothing left to give in turn. Savage picked him up for the slam, then ran for the corner and started climbing the ropes. This was it, he felt in his heart. He dove and dropped the elbow, then reached to hook the leg... <em>

_"Again!" Sherri screamed at him. Savage climbed up to the top rope again and dropped another elbow. "Again, again!" Sherri screamed, bloodlust in her eyes. Savage climbed up again, but something didn't feel right, to keep hitting a man like this when he was down. Nonetheless, he followed his manager's orders and dropped a third and then fourth elbow. He reached for the leg again... _

_"Here!" Sherri flung the bell into the ring, "Cripple him!" _

_Savage stared limply at the bell. A month ago, he wouldn't have hesitated, but now... _

_"DO IT!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs. Savage gripped the bell hard and climbed back up to the top rope with it. He raised his arms high... _

_...but couldn't take his eyes off Hulk, curled helplessly in a ball below him. It no longer seemed right... _

_"JUMP, DAMN YOU!" Sherri ordered him. Savage paused, then jumped... _

_...substantially overshooting the champion. Moments later, Hulk crawled to his feet, the cheers of the crowd clearly energizing him. His eyes wild, he grabbed the ropes, shook them like crazy, then rushed over to Savage, whipped him into the ropes, and gave him a hard kick to the chest that sent him sprawling to the canvas. "NO! GET UP!" Sherri screeched at him, but it was too late; Hulk dropped the leg on him and hooked the challenger's leg. And this time Savage didn't have the strength to get up as the referee counted to three. It was over, he knew as the bell rang and Hulk's theme music came up; he'd lost his chance at the title, perhaps the only one he'd ever have..._

_His vision was blurry from the blows, and his mind felt fogged from the leg drop. Thus, he had no clue what was going on when suddenly kicks and blows started raining down on him, accompanied by angry shrieks. Had he been able to see clearly, he might have noticed a certain figure in the audience rise up in horror at the assault, leap over the barriers, charge into the ring, and emphatically toss his attacker out to a loud cheer. But he heard none of that, expecting the respite to only be brief, and thus when he felt a hand on his shoulder as he crawled listlessly to the corner, trying to get away, he swatted at it. "Don't you touch me!" he roared in agony, reaching the ringpost and squirming back to his feet._

_"Randy, it's..."_

_"DON'T YOU...!" he spun to deliver a knockout blow...and found himself face to face with HER, deep concern on her face. "You!" he was stunned, "Why were you...!"_

_"You FAILURE!" came Sherri's furious shout. He turned to see her being restrained by no fewer than four officials outside the ring, fury and hate etched on her face. "You NOBODY! You CHOKE ARTIST!" she verbally assaulted him, "You're FIRED!"_

_"Come on, Sherri, it's over; let's go," one of the officials ordered, assisting his colleagues in dragging her away from the ring. Savage turned back to the sympathetic figure in front of him. "So SHE was...?" he pointed at his now former manager being dragged away, "And you...?"_

_"You sent the money, didn't you?" she asked gratefully, her eyes saying she already knew it had indeed been him._

_"You said to make my life count; that was the best way I could think of," his heart was melting at how lovely she was, "Elizabeth..."_

_"Oh Randy..." tears streaming down her face, she moved towards him, and before he knew it, they were embracing. But neither of them noticed the tremendous cheer that rang all the way to the rafters; all they saw and knew was each other..._

* * *

><p>"I'll confess, Mr. Savage, more than a few readers have noted that was an especially special moment for them," Rafting told him, "And then when the two of were married in the ring shortly thereafter..."<p>

"Greatest moment of my life," Savage sighed happily, pulling his wife close, "Since then, we made sure to turn this place," he gestured at the building around himself, "Into a wrestling mecca that would always be in the black. And once I let Elizabeth start training me, I realized how much Sherri had been holding me back to a weaker, more brutal style."

"I saw as much when I first started seeing him action before we met," Elizabeth agreed, "All brawn and no brains. I believe in a more intelligent manner of wrestling..."

"The Hulette Method; besterseller for thirty-two weeks now on the New York Times booklist," her husband proclaimed proudly.

"...and Randy really got so much better in the ring; soon everyone was singing his praises."

"Well, ALMOST everyone," a grim look returned to Savage's face, "As we soon found out, SOMEONE wasn't happy we were taking off, so much so to the point that they REALLY wanted revenge..."

* * *

><p><em>SIX MONTHS FOLLOWING THE WEDDING...<em>

_"...Macho Man climbing up to the top rope, I think we're about to see him take flight...yes, here come the elbow! And that's all she wrote for the Natural Butch Reed; one, two, three, it's over!" TV commentator Vince McMahon excitedly called the match, applauding himself as Savage rose to his feet, excited himself at the victory, "What a spectacular athlete this man is!"_

_"Yeah, well I remember distinctly there was a time you hated everything about the man, McMahon, so for the record, you were awfully late getting on the bandwagon," a bitter Jesse "the Body" Ventura, McMahon's reluctant color man, grumbled._

_"Sometimes it takes a while to...oh, look at that, Macho Man holding the ropes for Elizabeth!" McMahon continued raving as Savage raised his wife's hand in triumph once she entered the ring, "I'll tell you one thing, Jesse, he would never, ever have gotten this good under Sensational Sherri's tutiledge, never in a million years..."_

_With an angry roar, Sherri hurled a hand weight into the locker room TV, shattering it in a shower of sparks. "Nobody calls me pathetic, McMahon, nobody!" she screamed at the ruined set. Taking a deep breath, she turned towards the figure lurking around the side of the nearest row of lockers. "So you see the problem, Roberts?" she asked him, "I'm being humiliated every time the two of them walk into the ring together and he wins."_

_"And how does that involve Damien and me, may I ask?" hissed the man, just as the python draped around his shoulders hissed as well, "I don't see any gain..."_

_"You help me, Jake, and I'll see to it you end up the number one contender to Hogan," Sherri stressed._

_"Interesting. And in return...?"_

_"Ruin them," a dark look crossed her face, "Destroy them, both of them, any way you can think of. I want the smiles wiped clean off their worthless faces for good so everyone will know that...that...pathetic floozy is no match for me at managing."_

_There was silence. "Well?" she barked._

_"Let me think; you do not rush a snake; he'll choose whatever path suits him best; nobody tells him what to do," Roberts snapped. He held his snake up to his face. "What do you say, Damien; I don't see an overt gain, but it's pretty tempting..._

_Damien flicked his tongue rapidly. Roberts apparently took this as an answer. "I thought so, my friend," he nodded. "Anything goes?" he asked Sherri._

_"ANYTHING," she nodded firmly._

_"Then I guess we have a deal," he shook her hand, "So just sit back and trust me..."_

* * *

><p><em>ONE WEEK LATER...<em>

_"Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall," ring announcer Howard Finkel announced grandly to the audience, "Currently in the ring, from parts unknown, weighing 249 pounds, here is El Diablo," he gestured at the masked wrestler to his right. "And his opponent," he briefly paused as Pomp and Circumstance rose loudly over the PA system, accompanied this time by wild cheering, "Approaching the ring, accompanied by his manager, the lovely Elizabeth, from Sarasota, Florida, weighing 239 pounds, Randy 'Macho Man' Savage!"_

_"A standing ovation for the Macho Man!" McMahon roared delightedly as the couple approached the ring, "And I'll tell you, Jesse, Elizabeth looks lovelier than ever today..."_

_"You say that EVERY day, McMahon; I think everyone at home's sick of hearing it," Ventura grumbled softly._

_"Well it's the truth, and suffice to say she's become easily the best manager in the entire World Wrestling Federation already," McMahon stuck by his position as the bell rang, "And Macho Man getting ready now for this exciting matchup with newcomer El Diablo in his first match."_

_"Say, is it just me, McMahon, or does El Diablo look a little familiar?" Ventura frowned at the masked wrestler as Savage delivered a set of sharp elbows to his face._

_"Hmm, well, I can't say offhand, Jesse, but you never know who could be under a mask; maybe a former legend of the ring, come back for one final run. Anyway, Macho Man whipping El Diablo into the corner, charging in-ooooh, what an impact! Savage now dragging him back out into the center of the ring, preparing to whip him into the other corner, El Diablo spinning around...whoa!" he exclaimed as the newcomer abruptly seized Savage around the neck and flung both of them backwards hard to the match, "Out of nowhere, El Diablo with a DDT!"_

_"That REALLY makes me wonder, McMahon, I'm willing to wager..." Ventura's point was made moot as El Diablo promptly unmasked, "Wait a minute, that's not El Diablo, that's Jake 'the Snake' Roberts!" McMahon exclaimed in shock, "What's he doing here; he was suspended for two weeks for...oh no, now he's choking him out!" he grimaced as Roberts undid the belt from his El Diablo costume and started coldly choking Savage out in the middle of the ring._

_"Well, I give him credit; Roberts came into this match with a firm game plan; Macho's clearly paying the price for not coming prepared," Ventura laconically opined, looking far less stunned about the abrupt turn of events than his broadcast partner._

_"But look what he's doing, Jesse; he's choking the life out of...wait a minute, what's this!" he gasped as the ring covering in the far corner started moving, "That can't be...not...!"_

_But it was. A giant of a man was rising up from under the ring...a man with wild, unkempt red hair and cold, burning eyes that almost looked yellow and inhuman. He was dressed completely in black except for gray gloves and stockings. "The Undertaker emerging from under the ring!" a shocked McMahon continued the commentary as the newcomer strode menacingly toward the helpless Savage._

_"NOW Macho has a problem," Ventura laconically droned, "With Jake and the Undertaker forming their dark alliance a while back, everyone in their way's been buried alive..."_

_"Undertaker shoving the ref right out of the ring!" McMahon wretched at the deed as the bell started ringing, signaling Roberts's disqualification for outside interference, "And now the two of them kicking and beating Macho Man Randy Savage down! Elizabeth, she doesn't know what to do; she's helpless!" he ranted on as the camera focused on a terrified Elizabeth dithering by the apron watching the assault unfold._

_"She's a woman, McMahon; of course she's helpless," Ventura shrugged._

_"I can't believe you would say that, Jesse, not to such a brave and...oh no, Savage tombstoned by the Undertaker...and here comes Paul Bearer up the aisle, and he's got a coffin!" he wretched again as the ghoulish funeral director wheeled the coffin right up the side of the ring, "They're not going to...Jake with another DDT on Savage! And now they're tying him up in the ropes! Undertaker continuing to slap Macho Man silly as Jake walks over to Bearer...Bearer opens up the coffin...what's going on?" he demanded as Roberts casually extracted a large black glove from the coffin and slipped it on, then hefted a large white bag, turned back to the helpless Savage, and pointed coldly at it, "What's he got in there; Damien always travels in a green...wait a minute, what is that!" he now gasped in horror as Roberts opened the bag and dumped an entirely different snake to the canvas, "What kind of a reptile is that!"_

_"Looks like a king cobra to me, McMahon," Ventura matter-of-factually reported as Roberts picked up the snake, "And in case you didn't know, they happen to be one of the deadliest snakes on the planet; see, I DO read up, contrary to what you think."_

_"Roberts with a king cobra, now coming towards Savage; he's got it too close to him...!"_

_"NOOOO!" Elizabeth's scream echoed loudly through the arena as she frantically rushed between Roberts and Savage with her arms outstretched. "Get out of the way!" Roberts ordered, jerking to the side with his free hand._

_"No, please...!"_

_"I SAID GET OUT OF THE WAY!"_

_"Don't, please...AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" the crowd gasped in shock as Roberts roughly shoved her down to the canvas. Before she could recover, he stepped over her and..._

_'WAIT A MINUTE, THE SNAKE IS BITING HIS ARM!" McMahon shrieked in horror, leaping to his feet in shock as screams echoed all through the arena, "THE SNAKE IS BITING HIS ARM! MACHO MAN TWISTING AND SQUIRMING AS THE FANGS DIG DEEP INTO HIS ARM; THAT SNAKE BETTER BE DEVENOMIZED! ROBERTS SHAKING THE COBRA, GETTING IT TO BITE DEEPER; THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN! AND DON'T YOU DARE DEFEND THIS, JESSE!"_

_"Well, I can't condone this, McMahon, but I will give Jake points for originality here," Ventura seemed completely noplussed, in contrast to everyone else in the arena screaming._

_"Originality! Get your head examined, Jesse; Jake Roberts has completely snapped!" his broadcast partner roared in his face, "Elizabeth screaming, trying to free him-she gets him out...Roberts thrusts the cobra at her; it almost bit her too! Savage stumbling all over the ring, clotheslined by the Undertaker! Somebody get him out of there; this was not supposed to happen!"_

_**"RANDY!"** a horrified Elizabeth was trying to drag him to safety at that moment, only to be hauled up roughly by a now cobraless Roberts. Coldly grinning, the Snake slapped her hard across the face for no good reason, then lifted her up and hurled her clean out of the ring. "Jake Roberts with a new low on top of his earlier actions, hitting a defenseless woman!" McMahon was outraged, "Elizabeth in tears, crawling up the aisle...!"_

_"Yeah, brave, strong Liz, crawling for her life, abandoning her man in the ring," Ventura snickered as she disappeared behind the curtain, "NOW what do you think of her, McMahon?"_

_"I'm more concerned with Randy Savage, Jesse; Savage swinging at Jake, tumbling to the ground; he doesn't know any better, the poison running through his veins! FOR GOD'S SAKE, SOMEBODY GET HIM OUT OF THERE! Now Savage swinging and missing at the Undertaker, falling down again! Undertaker picking him up...Paul Bearer opening the coffin lid-oh no, they're going to bury him! Somebody please...!"_

_Suddenly a loud cheer rose up. "Wait a minute, Elizabeth is back!" McMahon exclaimed in delight, "And look, she's had the foresight to get help...!"_

_"Hogan!" Ventura grimaced at the world champion, whose expression as Elizabeth frantically dragged him out promptly went from bewilderment to outrage once he saw what was going on in the ring, "What does Hogan think he can get out of this; Hulkamania sure isn't snake-proof. If he gets in there with..."_

_"Hulk Hogan running towards the ring!" McMahon was exuberant again, "Flings over Bearer's coffin, grabs a chair...OOOOOOOH YEAH, smashes Roberts right across the back of the head!"_

_"And you condone that move for of the so-called world's champion!" Ventura groused_ _as Hulk wildly pushed the cobra back towards its bag with the chair._

_"He's trying to save Savage's life, Ventura; I call that bravery if I ever saw it! Hulk Hogan gets the cobra back into the bag, ties it shut...look out, here comes the Undertaker! Hogan swings at him...!" he stopped as the blow had no effect at all on the Undertaker, who coldly seized Hulk by the throat and lifted him clean off the ground. Hulk, though, kicked his foe hard in the chest, making the Deadman drop him, then with all his strength picked him up and slammed him down hard. Still unharmed, the Undertaker nonetheless heeded Bearer's call of "Come!" and rolled out of the ring after his manager and Jake, who was clutching his aching head in agony. "Medical crews finally making their way to ringside; let's hope they're not too late!" McMahon breathed in relief at the scores of doctors finally rushing to the ring with a gurney and medical kits._

_"Get him out of here!" Hulk's cry echoed throughout the arena as he rolled a groaning, prostrate Savage onto the gurney. "Hang in there, brother, I'm coming with you on this!" he told him, taking one hand as a shrieking, tearful Elizabeth took the other. The two of them rushed alongside the gurney as it was wheeled fast and furious out of the arena, leaving total chaos behind... _

* * *

><p>"I thought we were too late; that I'd lost him," Elizabeth confessed, taking hold of her husband's hand, "But we got to the hospital just in time for them to detoxify Randy; five minutes later, and he would have been dead on arrival. I can't begin to thank Hulk enough for stopping the assault," she smiled at him.<p>

"Hey, the honor's yours," he told her warmly, "If you hadn't been brave enough to come look for me in the first place..."

"Anyway," Savage spoke up again, "Once I was back and ready to go, I made darn sure to publicly thank this man for everything he did," he pointed emphatically to the champion, "And I'm sure you saw that clip where we publicly created the Mega Powers, right Phil?"

"Absolutely, and it's clear the fans love the two of you working together," Rafting agreed, erasing a few more notes, "The fact that two formerly mortal enemies like yourselves working so closely together makes for a great story."

"Now the only matter is taking care of that snake in the grass Roberts, my real mortal enemy," the Macho Man grumbled, "I've wanted his head ever since I got out of the hospital..."

"Look at it this way, bro: waiting makes the climax all the more fulfilling," Hulk assured his partner, "And since President Tunney also banned him from ever bringing a cobra to ringside again, you won't have to worry about that this time..."

"Oh he'll try, Hulkster; I know he'll try; his black heart knows no boundaries," Savage shook his head softly, "Tonight's the big night, and if he lays just one hand on Elizabeth this time, I'm killing him with my bare hands. I can't wait to see the look on his face when Macho Madness runs wild all over him tonight."

* * *

><p>Had Savage looked out the window, however, he might have seen a mustached figure in a trench coat, snakeskin boots, and dark glasses pacing back and forth, a moving green bag at his feet. He stopped only when another trench coated figure approached. "Certainly took you long enough, Rude," he grumbled.<p>

"Give it a rest for once in your life, Jake; it's rush hour," Ravishing Rick Rude lowered his own shades. "I can..."

"Do you have it!" Jake Roberts barked at him.

"Yeah, they dropped it off to me at the car wash Vincenelli runs on Maple," Rude slipped a vial out of his coat pocket, "It's not lethal, but it should put Hogan in the hospital and weaken him enough for Flair to win tonight-if the doctors let him out. Then we all pass the belt amongst each other..."

"I know the drill; you just better come through on your end right now," Roberts snatched the vial off him, then opened the bag and pulled Damien out. "OK, Damien, this is it," he told his python, slipping the vial between the snake's fangs, "You just head on into the air duct there," he pointed to it, "and wait for everyone to leave the room. Hogan's is the one on the far left; spike it and get out of there, got it?"

Damien flicked his tongue, a likely yes. "OK, go to work," Roberts carried his pet to the duct and released him to slither into it. "Don't screw up on your end," he warned Rude, "or we'll never hear the end of this from..."

"Get a grip Jake; I'm in, I pull the handle, I'm out; what could go wrong?" Rude almost laughed.

"I'll believe it when I see it; get to work," Roberts told him off roughly. He folded his arms across his chest and stared through the window at the Mega Powers still being interviewed. Thirty seconds later, the fire alarm sounded. Hulk and his remaining colleagues jerked up at the sound and rushed for the door, Elizabeth rushing to the back to herd the remaining kids outside. Roberts nodded softly; Rude WAS capable of performing a simple duty after all. He stared at the window as Damien started slithering across the floor towards the table the hamburgers still sat on. The python slipped up to the one his master had specified and squeezed his fangs on the vial, breaking it open all over the hamburger. Roberts grinned darkly. He bent down by the duct and whistled loudly to recall his pet. Everything was falling into place now...


	4. Chapter 4

"Everything checks out, Ms. Hulette; looks like it was just a false alarm," the fire chief approached Elizabeth as he and his men sauntered out of the building.

"Oh good," she breathed a deep sigh of relief, "Not sure what would have triggered it, though."

"Well, I'm guessing someone just threw the switch; just keep a closer eye on it in the future," the fire chief told her, "Have a good day."

The firemen began packing up their gear. From behind them, a woman came barrelling up. "Timmy, are you all right!" she rushed the boy and hugged him hard.

"Yeah, Mom, there was no fire," he told her.

"Thank God," it was her turn to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Guess what," he told her, "I got to listen in to the Mega Powers being interviewed."

"Oh really?" she looked at Hulk and Savage, "That was nice of you. Timmy always wanted to wrestle, but he has a bad leg; the other kids tease him about him a lot."

"Well, on behalf of the Mega Powers Rock n' Wrestling Connection, let me say that I think he's definitely better than half the kids Elizabeth helps train here," Bret smiled at the boy.

"And, because of that, we'd like to offer the two of you tickets to tonight's show to see me whip Ric Flair good," Hulk told them, "Front row seats right next to WWF President Jack Tunney's seat; just go to the ticket office and tell them Hulk sent you."

"Really?" Timmy's face lit up.

"Ooooooh yeah," Savage patted him on the head, "Anything for the fans."

"Why thank you," Timmy's mother commended him, "Well, let's go home and have dinner then, honey, and then head on to the arena."

"But before you go, Timmy," Bret removed his latest set of shades and handed them to the boy, "Now you're a Mega Power too."

Beaming at his new acquisition, Timmy took hold of his mother's hand and followed her down the street as the fire trucks zoomed off. "Nice kid, really nice," the Hitman remarked with a smile.

"So, picking up where I left off before all this broke out, Mr. Hart," Rafting spoke up from behind him, "Much like Mr. Hogan and Mr. Savage, you weren't the nicest wrestler either at first when you came to the WWF."

"Uh, no, now that I look back," Bret's expression dropped as they all started walking back into the emporium, "I really wasn't all that nice. My father's territory had just been bought out, and I guess I was embittered that the world I knew had come to an end, even though Jack Tunney had made a fair deal with my father. I shifted around the remaining territories for a while, but never could get a push. Then Jimmy Hart came calling when I was at my most bitter and said he had a tag team opening for me. I jumped at that chance, enlisted my brother-in-law Jim Neidhart, and so the Hart Foundation was born. And soon enough, we soon had the tag team titles-albeit at Davey's expense."

"It was rather controversial, you smashing the Dynamite Kid from behind with Jimmy Hart's megaphone to take him out of the equation. I suppose it also put some friction between you and your family for a while, right?"

"Tell me about it," the Hitman sighed, "My sister refused to speak to me for almost a year; my father told me point blank during one visit, 'Bret, you're disgracing the family name holding onto these titles; I'm very disappointed in you.'"

"You've said you've had the deepest respect for the man, and yet it's been reported you were rather cold with him during this time."

"I was young, I was corrupted by power, and I was stupid," Bret conceded, "I felt I was on top of the world, and thus I was right about everything. Then Tito and Rick Martel abruptly beat us for the tag titles-this was of course before Rick proved himself a grade A louse and walked out on Tito. But anyway, I thought it was only a temporary setback, that we'd have the titles back again soon. But it turned out we'd already worn out our welcome with Jimmy..."

* * *

><p><em>"...piece of cake to get the titles back," Bret was telling Neidhart as they entered the locker room, "We simply jump Strike Force on the way to the ring, drag them in and pin them straight away."<em>

_"Guaranteed Hart break in five seconds or less," Neidhart laughed hard. He reached his locker and twisted the combination..._

_...but it refused to open. "What's wrong here?" he mused, yanking the handle hard._

_"It's not just you; mine won't open either," Bret tugged his locker as well, but it wouldn't work either, "What's the story with this...?"_

_"The story is, you're fired, Bret," came Jimmy's voice from behind them, cold and unforgiving. Both Harts spun towards their manager. "What do you mean we're fired, Jimmy!" Bret was incensed, "If this is some joke...!"_

_"It ain't no joke, smart guy," the Mouth of the South glared him down, "I've got no room in my stable for chokers. I'm giving your lockers to the Rougeaus."_

_"What!" Neidhart exploded, "They ain't got no talent at all! We got you the titles, Jimmy...!"_

_"And you submitted to a measly Boston crab!" Jimmy roared right in his face through his megaphone, "I have no room for quitters like you! Jacques and Raymond are real contenders-and, I may add, they agreed to move from Montreal to Memphis, so now I have All-American boys under my control, not like you two." _

_"This is unfair!" Bret seized his now former manager by the collar, "We gave everything for you, Jimmy, and now you sell...!" _

_Suddenly someone jumped him from behind and started pummeling him. "So long, suckers!" Jacques Rougeau laughed right in his ear as he landed blow after below; next to him, brother Raymond was similarly pummeling the Anvil, "By the way, we love your lockers!" _

_"You'll pay for this, you turncoats!" Neidhart groaned from Raymond's blows. _

_"Beautiful, Jacques, Raymond, beautiful!" Jimmy was all but laughing as he barked out orders through his megaphone, "Don't let up, don't let up, beautiful, beautiful! Now show them the door!" _

_"Jimmy, you're lower than...!" Bret was interrupted as Jacques smashed him face first into the locker room door, then flung him through it into the hall, Neidhart landing right on top of him from behind. "Lay there till tomorrow night; that's when they take the garbage out, you lousy losers!" Raymond taunted them as he slammed the door on the Harts. _

* * *

><p>"That was a big wakeup call for me," the present day Bret recalled, "The first thing I did when I got home to Calgary was fall down before my father and admit how wrong I'd been. Fortunately, he had a big enough heart to forgive me, as did Davey and Diana. From that day on, I decided to stick wholly to my father's wrestling principles, and clearly it's been for the better. So, Phil," he sat back down at the dinner table, "Between Hulk, Randy, and myself, I hope your readers get out of this that no one is beyond redemption, that no matter how low someone may seem, they can always find the way to becoming a better person, just like we all did."<p>

"I see," Rafting nodded, finishing up his last set of notes, "Well, I guess that covers everything; I thank all of you for your time. I think this will be an article our readers will enjoy."

"Any time, dude," Hulk thanked him, picking up his now tainted hamburger, "If you need anything else, we'd be glad to..."

He suddenly seized up after taking a bite and started shaking, his eyes going wide. "Hulk, are you all right!" Elizabeth worriedly put a hand on his shoulder, then gasped as the champion tumbled to the floor, now foaming at the mouth. "Oh my God!" she gasped, "Randy, call an ambulance right away!"

* * *

><p>"So he was just admitted, huh?" Blassie grinned as he spoke over the locker room phone, "Good. Everything worked just fine, then. Keep an eye on him."<p>

He hung up and turned to Flair and his fellow managers behind him. "Mission accomplished; Hogan is now an incapacitated man," he snickered to them, "Great thinking, Ric."

He patted his protege on the shoulder. "Just doing my part to get you your title, Freddie," Flair grinned back, then let out a celebratory, "WOOOOO!"

"But what if he stays in the hospital all night?" Heenan inquired with raised eyebrows.

"This is Hogan we're talking about, Bobby; he'll do anything not to let the stupid kids down," Blassie declared, "And in his weakened state, he'll be easy prey for Ric, so I'll have the title in record time tonight."

"OK then, let's rally the troops and get them ready for action," Hart bustled back into the depths of the locker room, everyone falling in from behind.

The rest of the Million Dollar Corporation was huddled together in the corner, chatting amongst themselves. They were decked out in a somewhat monotonous set of black and blue uniforms-the group's official colors, given black and blue was how they planned to leave their opposition in each match. The managers had deliberately chosen the roughest, toughest, most effectively harshest members of their stables for the super group. DiBiase had for instance been an obvious choice from Hart's stable; his willingness to personally use his money to get ahead in the ring had over the years gotten him far. The Mouth of the South had also signed up the gigantic Earthquake, easily a match for the equally huge Andre, only with a crueler streak and a sick desire to put his opponents, all his opponents, permanently out of commission. Heenan had hired his former Intercontinental champion, "Mr. Perfect" Curt Henning, spoiled son of the legendary Larry "the Axe" Henning, and the narcissic Rude, even now gloatingly examining his reflection in the nearest mirror with a smug smile. In addition to Flair, Blassie had added the former champion Iron Sheik and his former world champion tag partner Nikolai Volkoff of the U.S.S.R.-not the brightest men in the world, but loyal and mostly trustworthy with whatever they were assigned to do. Towering over the two of them, staring harshly into space, getting psyched, was Bearer's Undertaker, an unstoppable force as yet unbeaten in the WWF. As for Roberts, lounging against the wall and toying with Damien, he usually walked alone, but his cold, sociopathic nature had made him an ideal addition to the team. Blassie grinned as he sized his men up. Even if by some chance something went wrong with his plan this evening, simple odds dictated one of them would take the title from Hogan in the end.

He cleared his throat to get their attention. "All right, men," he addressed them all, "Another night, another set of opportunities. We've already neutralized Hogan; Ric here should take good care of him. Ted, Bret Hart is nothing; I expect you to have that Intercontinental title tonight..."

"I should be the one going for it tonight, Freddie!" Perfect whined, "It's my title; I was the one cheated out of it by Hart...!"

"You'll get another chance, Perfect, trust me on that," Blassie assured him, "After all, Bobby says you're a lock to face Hart at Summer Slam next month anyway."

"And if Ted does win tonight as we expect, you'll just face him instead, Perfect," Jimmy added.

"But I want it NOW!" Perfect continued complaining.

"Ah, quite your bellyaching!" Sherri upbraided him, "Anyway," she went on, "I'll be in Jake's corner against that traitor Savage; anything to put him and Little Miss Lovely in their places..."

"I still haven't seen that title shot yet, though," Roberts frowned at her, "Damien and I don't like being had by anyone..."

"You'll get it, Jake, trust me," she assured him, "Even if it's against Ric."

"I'd better, Martel, because you do not double cross a a snake and get away with it," he glared right into her face.

"All right, all right," Blassie raised his hand to restore order, "For those of you who only have dark matches tonight, just do whatever it takes to win; it'll make you look better for Summer Slam next month. Now let's get down to business."

* * *

><p>"He's what?" a concerned Davey asked over the phone in the other locker room, "Well is there...anything at...I see. Well, let us know how things go."<p>

He hung up and turned to the rest of the Mega Power Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, looking over his shoulder with worried expressions. "It's not good," he shook his head, "Hulk's in intensive care; looks like he's been poisoned."

His teammates gasped. "What, how...?" Steamboat asked, deeply concerned.

"They're not sure; might have been something he ate," the British Bulldog shook his head.

"Something he ate my foot!" the Boss Man snarled, "I'll bet anything those lousy Million Dollar Corporationers are behind this! Once I'm done tonight with that lousy Sheik, I'll go and find some evidence that'll prove...!"

"I'm a lousy WHAT!" came the Sheik's angry voice from behind him. The Million Dollar Corporation was coming towards them. The Rock 'n Wrestling Connection immediately went into a joint defensive stance. "Yeah, you're lousy Sheiky baby, because word is Hulk just went to the hospital for poisoning; how convenient he'd do so right before a big match, which puts you guys right in the...!" Piper accused them.

"It's not our fault Hogan can't watch what he eats," Volkoff sneered as his teammates also assumed an attack formation, "Maybe he's not quite champion he makes himself out as."

"Cut the song and dance act, boy; you and your cronies aren't much better!" the Boss Man snapped back.

"Prove it, smart boy," Rude taunted him, "Of course, that would be hard, since you have as little brains in you head as your butt-ugly momma..."

"I'M WARNING YOU, RUDE, YOU SAY ONE MORE WORD ABOUT MY MOTHER...!" the former prison guard whipped out his nightstick and took an ominous step forward...

"All right, what's going on here?" came the welcome voice of WWF President Jack Tunney, storming up the corridor with a frown on his face. Graying and distinguished, Tunney had set down the law as fairly as possible since taking over, and was glaring at each group. "Break it up, both of you," he repremanded them both, "Save whatever bad feelings you have for the ring."

"They're accusing us of everything, Tunney; they're saying we attacked Hulk when none of us were near him all night," Perfect protested.

"Liar; Flair barged into Liz's shop and all but ruined Hulk's interview with...!" Piper roared.

"I said enough!" Tunney raised his hands to get their attention, "Now, you've got about a half hour to finish up the dark matches before we go live on the network, so try and finish up as quickly as possible. We're six minutes to start time, so Sheik, Boss Man, please head for the entrance and try not to kill each other until the bell rings, please."

"All right," the Boss Man conceded, putting the nightstick away and walking towards down the tunnel towards the entrance, the Sheik and Blassie falling behind them. "The rest of you, back to the dressing room until it's time for you to go on; I want no backstage brawls," Tunney warned the other wrestlers, "If there are, we'll..."

"Hey Jack," another tuxedoed man came forward, two familiar figures in tow, "These two were given front row seats by you by Hulk. Let me introduce Lori and Timmy Kane; they say they're big fans."

"Nice to meet the two of you," Tunney graciously shook both their hands, "Hulk seems have a knack for getting his fans good seats." He glanced at his aide, "Any word about Hulk, by the way, Jim? I heard something about the hospital..."

"We're still waiting for the doctor's official word, Jack; they don't know how bad he is," Jim shook his head.

"Well when they do call, tell them he's got about an hour to get here or we'll have to cancel the world title match," Tunney told him grimly, giving the Million Dollar Corporation a sharp glance when several of them snickered under their breaths. "Well, let me show you folks to your seats, then," he turned warmly to the Kanes.

"First," Timmy approached DiBiase, "Can I have your autograph, Mr. Million Dollar Man? I don't think..."

"Autograph? What makes you think the Million Dollar Man's going to stoop to signing his name for peasants for free?" DiBiase sneered contemptuously, "Take a hike, kid."

"That's enough, Ted...hey!" Tunney roared at Virgil as the bodyguard pushed Timmy away from his boss, "I won't tolerate that either, Virgil, not with a kid! Now back to your dressing rooms, A.S.A.P.!"

"All right, don't have a hernia, Tunney!" DiBiase grumbled as he and his cohorts shuffled off to the dressing room. "Don't be upset, Timmy; we'll sign for you, won't we, chaps?" Davey asked his colleagues, who eagerly nodded.

"Thank you," Timmy blinked back his tears from DiBiase's harsh rejection and held out his paper for the Bulldog to sign. "Is Hulk OK?" he asked worriedly.

"We hope so," Andre took the pen and signed his name, "It wouldn't be right if he wasn't here..."

* * *

><p>"How is he, Doctor?" a worried Elizabeth approached the surgeon coming out of the operating room.<p>

"He's stabilized, and he should be better in the end," the doctor told her, "I'd advise an overnight stay for him, though..."

"No way!" came Hulk's shout from inside the operating room, "I've got a match to handle tonight!"

"Mr. Hogan, you're in no shape for a full-on athletic competition," the doctor called back to him.

"Maybe he's right, Hulk; you really ought to take it easy," Bret opened the operating room door and told his colleague outright, "You can't put yourself in any..."

"It's for Timmy, Bret; I promised I'd defend the title for him; I can't let him down!" the champion protested.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hogan, but I'm going to have to insist," the doctor shook his head.

"Look at it this way, Hulkster, Flair don't get the belt if you're not in the ring to give him the chance, and he still goes home a loser," Savage told his fellow Mega Power, "Don't that make you feel a little better?"

"No it doesn't, Randy, I don't run from...!"

"Hulk, please, it's for your own good," Elizabeth shook her head, "We'll stop in to visit first thing in the morning; you'll get another shot at Ric in due time, OK?"

There was a long silence from Hulk before he growled, "I just know Flair and Blassie did this, I know it...!"

"Well don't worry, Mr. Hogan, you're in good hands with us," the doctor assured him.

"Well, we'll trust you on that, Doc," Bret told the man, "Anyway, we'd better get going; I'm the opening match on the televised part of the show, after all."

"I'll still try to make it, Bret, don't count me out..."

"Hulk, take care, please," the Hitman reluctantly waved goodbye to his fellow beltholder. "I hope he doesn't try anything crazy when we're gone," he confided in the Savages as they headed for the elevators.

"Oh he will," Macho mused knowingly, "Only death itself would keep the Hulkster from the ring with the title on the line..."


	5. Chapter 5

"Stand by everyone, we are on in a minute fifteen," the director announced, leaning forward in his seat in the production truck outside the arena, "Final check; audio and video good?"

"We're all good Phil," the switcher told him.

"Give them the notice, Howard," the director told the well dressed ring announcer in the middle of the ring, who hefted his microphone and told the capacity crowd, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, in exactly one minute, we will begin broadcasting another installment of Saturday Night's Main Event!" A loud cheer rose up from the fans, almost deafening. "There are times I just love this job," the director grinned. "OK, Vince, Jesse, stand by, we are go in thirty seconds," he declared to the two figures seated at the announcers' podium, one crisply dressed in a formal tuxedo and the other slobbishly decked out in military fatigues. Both of them turned to the camera and gave him thumbs-up. "We are all set, Finkel, give them the countdown starting in five seconds," he told the ring announcer again.

"Everybody ready?" Finkel asked the crowd once more. They gave him their loudest cheer yet in response, "All right, we're on in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...!"

The arena all but exploded as the opening montage to the live broadcast rolled on the video screens above the ring. "Looking good, looking good," the director nodded in satisfaction, "OK, stand by, Vince, we're coming to you in five, four, three, two, one, hit it."

"A sold-out capacity crowd here tonight, the electricity crackling like it's never crackled before, as we welcome you all to yet another edition of Saturday Night's Main Event!" the more formally dressed man grandly proclaimed to the new viewing audience, "Hello again, I'm Vince McMahon, joined as always by Jesse 'the Body' Ventura, and the big news just reaching us is that World Wrestling Federation champion Hulk Hogan has been hospitalized with an undetermined illness, so this just may affect his world title match with Ric Flair that was slated to close out tonight's broadcast."

"Well you know what I think, McMahon; I think Hogan just plain chickened out," Ventura gruffly opined, "He knew he couldn't beat Ric Flair head to head, so he came up with this lame hospital excuse to save himself."

"Now listen, Jesse Ventura, Hulk Hogan does not know the meaning of the words 'chicken out,' so if he can't make tonight's match, it's because he's genuinely unable to make it to the ring," McMahon countered, "We'll keep you the viewers abreast of this development as it unfolds throughout the evening. In the meantime, the other World Wrestling Federation titles are also on the line tonight as Hitman Bret Hart puts his Intercontinental belt on the line against the Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase."

"You know, Ted DiBiase has been denied a legitimate belt for too long during his stay here in the World Wrestling Federation; I predict that tonight, he'll finally prove himself worthy by excellently executing the Hitman," Ventura confidently predicted.

"Not so fast there, Jesse; there's good reason Ted DiBiase doesn't have a legitimate title, since you cannot simply buy a belt as DiBiase tried to do with the world championship in the past, whereas Bret Hart more than earned the Intercontinental championship on his own. In other action, tag team champions Demolition put their belts on the line against the Islanders, the first of consecutive title defenses against the Heenan Family, given they have been officially booked to face Bobby Heenan's Brainbusters at Summer Slam next month. And also, Jake 'the Snake' Roberts will face Macho Man Randy Savage for the first time since Roberts' hideously unwarranted assault against Savage and the lovely Elizabeth in the ring; Macho Man can rest easy on one front at least given that Jake the Snake has been barred from ever bringing the cobra that bit Savage's arm to ringside again."

"It's not the cobra he should worry about, McMahon; Roberts himself is the snake Macho has to worry about..."

"Whatever, Jesse. At any rate, let's get down to ring announcer Howard Finkel and our first bout of the evening."

The ring bell rang out loudly. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is for the Intercontinental championship, scheduled for one fall!" Finkel proclaimed to the crowd, "First, the challenger: coming to the ring, accompanied by his manager, the Mouth of the South, Jimmy Hart, and his personal bodyguard, Virgil, making his summer residence in Hyannisport, Massachusetts, weighing 260 pounds, here is the self-proclaimed Million Dollar Champion, the Million Dollar Man, Ted DiBiase!"

"What do they mean self-proclaimed? DiBiase IS the Million Dollar Champion," Ventura protested as DiBiase and his entourage came up the aisle to his theme song.

"Maybe to you, Jesse, but to a majority of fans out there, creating your own belt doesn't count the same way as winning it," McMahon countered, "Nonetheless, Ted DiBiase looking confident as he makes his way to the ring behind bodyguard Virgil, who apparently still has no regrets over how he took the job..."

"You still can't leave Virgil alone, can you, McMahon?" Ventura complained.

"Well you know the whole story, Jesse; former president of the Virgil Jones Security Corporation, facing major felony charges for stealing from his clients, then in swoops DiBiase with the golden parachute to make all the charges vanish if he agreed to be his personal bodyguard, and Virgil sold out on his company and took the deal!"

"So? The mantra in this country is innocent until proven guilty, McMahon, and who's to say any of those charges weren't trumped up in the first place?"

"Even if so, Jesse, do you really think it's fair that Virgil's now enjoying a multi-million dollar position while his former company's gone under and hundreds of average people are now stuck on the unemployment line because of their boss's lack of ethics?"

"Well that's not DiBiase's fault, is it, McMahon?"

"As far as you're concerned, Jesse, DiBiase has no faults, but let me say, you are firmly in the minority there. We're now waiting for the champion to arrive..."

The bell rang again. "His opponent, and champion," Finkel announced over the roar of the crowd as Bret's "Hart Beat" theme rose up over the loudspeakers, "From Calgary, Alberta, Canada, weighing 234 pounds, here is Bret 'Hitman' Hart!"

"A standing ovation for Intercontinental champion Bret Hart," McMahon proclaimed as Bret strutted down the aisle, slapping hands with everyone along the way, "And let me say, he looks in the finest shape of his career for this match."

"Of course he is, McMahon; he's obsessed with sticking it to Jimmy Hart every chance he gets," Ventura opined.

"And why shouldn't he be, Jesse; after all, Jimmy Hart sold him out for no good reason whatsoever."

"No good reason? He lost Jimmy Hart the tag team title out of sheer stupidity..."

"First off, Strike Force was most assuredly the better team that night, Jesse; take a good hard look at the footage and you'll see that much. They would have won in the end no matter what. Secondly, it was Jim Neidhart and not Bret who submitted to Rick Martel's Boston Crab, so on that alone you can call Jimmy Hart's vendetta against the Hitman unwarranted."

"Hey, you can say what you want, McMahon, but as far as I'm concerned, Jimmy Hart was still justified in dumping the Hart Foundation for the Fabulous Rougeau Brothers; Jacques and Raymond Rougeau are better wrestlers than the Harts in every respect AND they're now All-American boys."

"Simply moving to the U.S. does not make one All-American, Jesse; it's what in the heart that counts the most, and Bret Hart has more than proved he has plenty of heart. The champion now entering the ring, pointing at DiBiase and his gang, letting them know he has the belt..."

"So you don't consider that taunting, McMahon?"

"Not when you've earned it, Jesse."

In the ring, Bret held the Intercontinental title high, keeping it up defiantly when Jimmy raised the Million Dollar Belt just as high. Once the referee took both away, he removed his shades, scanned the ringside crowd, then slid out the far side and approached a little girl along the railing. "Here you go," he said with a smile, slipping them over her head to excited applause from her family. He turned to go...

...and was promptly blindsided by Virgil. "Oh come on, there was no call for that at all!" an outraged McMahon bellowed over the air, "Virgil now slams Bret Hart's face into the ring apron; come on ref, let's get the match started here!"

"Well Virgil's rolling him into the ring now; happy, McMahon?" Ventura posed as the bell finally rang to start the match.

"But he was giving his shades away; there was no reason for Virgil to nail him while he was doing that!"

"Then maybe he should quit giving them away, I say."

"Ted DiBiase now stomping on Bret Hart; picks him up and suplexes him-here's a cover, will it be over already-no, only two. DiBiase flings Bret into the ropes, elbow to the face. DiBiase now drops the elbow-hooks the leg, one, two...and another kickout. DiBiase flings him into the turnbuckle, rushes him-and misses! Bret Hart crawling along the apron, trying to catch his breath...oh but wait a minute, COME ON, Jimmy Hart choking him out; come on ref, turn around!"

"That's very smart by Jimmy Hart there, McMahon; he knows they have to keep Bret Hart under constant siege to get the title."

"I call it unnecessary aggressiveness, Jesse, and outside interference. DiBiase lifts Bret up again, Irish whip, and a kick to the chest; so far, it's been all Million Dollar Man in this match."

"He came prepared, McMahon, that much is clear, and I think it's only a matter time before DiBiase has another belt to his name."

"That remains to be seen. DiBiase picking him up again-no, wait a minute, Bret pulls him into a small package, one, two...no, a kickout at the last minute. The champion now struggling to his feet, or I should say his knees, lifts DiBiase up-backbreaker, good move. Now he rushes into the ropes, the Hitman going airborne-yeah, right down on top of the the Million Dollar Man. Another cover-and DiBiase kicks out at one this time."

"Well he's going to have to do a whole lot more to put away Ted DiBiase, McMahon; DiBiase's more than established himself as a tough competitor so far in the WWF."

"Bret Hart now slingshots DiBiase into the turnbuckle; Million Dollar Man stumbles around the ring; he has no clue where he is. Hart flips him over his head-what a backdrop! Bret Hart now charging into the ropes-and Jimmy Hart grabs the ankle, come on!"

"Another smart move by the Mouth of the South, and don't you call that unfair, McMahon, he was just doing what any manager would do to protect his client."

"Bret Hart shakes his former manager off, takes hold of the Million Dollar Man, flings him hard into the turnbuckle, here he comes himself now-ooooooh, misses hard...!"

In the ring, Bret hung halfway over the turnbuckle, grimacing from the pain in his ribs from the missed splash attempt. Before he could fully recover, DiBiase grabbed him by the hair and started smashing his face into the top turnbuckle repeatedly. "That's it, beautiful, beautiful, Ted baby, pour it on!" Jimmy shouted annoyingly over his ever-present megaphone outside the ring, "He's got nothing, Ted, the belt's all yours, pound him to a crisp!"

"SHUT UP!" Bret roared at his former manager and started to yell more before a chop to the face cut him off. He delivered an elbow to his foe's chest to stop that assault, but DiBiase quickly slipped outside the ring underneath a second elbow and grabbed the champion's ankles before he could step away, yanking him off his feet. "Get your cameras ready, folks!" the Million Dollar Man shouted arrogantly to the crowd, spreading the Hitman's legs wide around the ringpost and letting out another diabolical laugh, "This is how you incapacitate the so-called champion!"

"Oh no...!" Bret groaned at what was coming, straining to break away.

"Oh yeah, baby!" Jimmy leaned into the ring and shouted at the top of his lungs into his megaphone, "Let him have it, Ted, at least four times!"

"My pleasure," DiBiase leaned forward and...

"OOOOOOOOOOOH MY!" McMahon grimaced uncomfortably from the broadcast position, "That's going to leave a mark, Jesse Ventura, no doubt about it!"

"No question, McMahon, and all Bret Hart has to do to stop it is say, 'I quit, Mr. Million Dollar Man,'" Ventura calmly remarked as the discomforting assault continued to the pained groans of the fans.

"Bret Hart has never just quit before, and despite the terrible thrashing he's taking right now, I can't see...oh no, DiBiase now slamming the Hitman's head into the ringpost over and over! Perhaps, for once, you may have a point, Jesse, this is a bigger barrage than Bret Hart has ever taken before. DiBiase laughing, apparently convinced he's already won, hops over the ropes, lifts up the Hitman and hurls him out-and Virgil starts kicking him; come on ref, break this up!"

"Hey, he's just helping his boss, the same way Anvil Neidhart would be helping Bret were he here now."

"Not like that he wouldn't, and I don't know where you get your theories from at all, Ventura! Virgil now tossing Bret Hart back into the ring, DiBiase adds a few kicks of his own. Now he starts climbing up the ropes..."

"This is it, this is the end for Bret Hart, McMahon, he can't take another major shock like he's going to take here."

"DiBiase's taking quite a bit of time up there-and he took too much time!" McMahon exclaimed as Bret easily rolled out of the way of DiBiase's backwards diving elbow drop attempt and hopped straight to his feet, "Hitman grabbing the Million Dollar Man by the ankles, and I think we're about to see...yes, here comes the sharpshooter! Stu Hart's patented finisher that he only taught to his sons, and Bret now has it locked on good! DiBiase's trapped in the middle of the ring, flailing for assistance...and he taps out, that's it!" he declared as the bell rang to a loud cheer.

"Well all I can say is that the Hitman should consider himself quite lucky, since Ted DiBiase had him on the ropes there," a bitter Ventura grumbled.

In the ring, an equally bitter DiBiase pounded the canvas in utter frustration. Bret paid him no heed as he took the belt from the referee and hoisted it high as the announcement went out through the arena, "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout, and STIIIIIIIILLL Intercontinental Champion, Bret 'Hitman' Hart!" Unfortunately, he failed to see a furious Virgil rush into the ring from behind, for which the bodyguard sucker-jumped him from behind. "Hold him good, Virgil!" an equally furious Jimmy stormed forward, megaphone held high, "You may have the title this time, Hitman, but you're also taking this home with you!"

He charged forward with the megaphone, but Bret ducked out of Virgil's grasp at the last second, and the Mouth of the South decked the bodyguard in the face with the megaphone instead. "Oops, sorry about that, Virgil, I..." the manager tried to apologize. Roaring, Virgil rushed him and chased him clear out of the ring, a grimacing DiBiase stumbling after them as the Hart Beat theme rose up again in celebration. Bret breathed a deep sigh of relief. "That was close," he mused to himself, sliding out of the ring with the belt and accepting high fives from ringside patrons, "Still got it when it counts, though. Hope Hulk took my advice to rest up, though."

* * *

><p>"All right, Mr. Hogan, we're here with your shots for..." the doctor was saying as entered Hulk's hospital room with a syringe, but abruptly froze up when he noticed the bed was empty. "Where...!" he glanced around, and saw the window wide open. "Hey!" he shouted, rushing over to it and seeing a yellow and red blur streaking across the grass, "Hey, you can't go yet, Mr. Hogan!"<p>

Out on the lawn, Hulk just heard the shout from above. "Sorry, dude, I've got a match to win!" he called back, nonetheless grimacing as sharp pains ran through his stomach. Was he really doing a smart thing at the moment, part of him did wonder?

Well, his other side reasoned, Flair had challenged him, and one never backed off a challenge once you'd accepted it. He'd just have to give his best, and depending on how the first match went, there still would be the tag team match and Savage's match before his-perhaps enough time for his insides to calm down fully.

As luck would have it, an ambulance was parked right by the front gate, its driver outside the cab talking to some doctors. Much as he hated to steal anything, it looked like his fastest ticket to the arena-and at least it had medical supplies in the back if he needed it. And it looked like he didn't have any choice: security personnel were already pouring out of the hospital behind him. He sprang for the ambulance's cab and found his good fortune continued, as the keys were conveniently right in the ignition. Snapping the seatbelt on, he shifted into drive and floored it out the gate before the startled driver could react. "I'll make it, I'll make it," he told himself out loud, then grimaced from another sharp blast of chest pain. Hopefully he wasn't about to make a title-costing mistake, he wished deep down...


	6. Chapter 6

"Thank you for calling, Doctor. We'll have some people here to meet him when he arrives. You have a good night too," Tunney hung up the portable phone he'd been handed by another aide. "Eddie, Hogan's on his way here in an ambulance; wait by the front door and let me know when he arrives; I want our doctors to confirm he's actually fit to wrestle before I let him in the ring," he directed the man.

"Got it, Jack," Eddie hustled up the aisle. "Is Hulk coming?" a concerned Timmy asked in the chair next to the company president.

"Yes he is, young man, but I'll have to give final approval over whether he can step into the ring," Tunney told him, "If he is hurting, no point in making the problem worse."

He turned his gaze back to the ring, where tag team champions Demolition were giving the challenging Islanders a serious smackdown. "Enjoying the show, though?" he asked the boy gently.

"Yep," Timmy nodded emphatically. "YEAH, GIVE IT TO THEM!" he shouted enthusiastically as Demolition's Ax gave a sharp clothesline to the Islanders' Haku following a hard bounce off the ropes.

"Honey, please, we're in public," his mother squeezed his hand, looking uncomfortable, "It's OK at home with your friends and all, but..."

"Oh it's all right, Mrs. Kane; my uncle always said that we're only young once, and thus we might as well enjoy it while we can," Tunney told her, "That's why I determined when I took over to make the WWF as clean as possible, so the younger fans can enjoy it without worry of corruption. It wasn't always easily; do you remember the problems I had with Danny Davis?"

"Uh, well, I really don't know each individual wrestler, Mr. Tunney; my son's more of the..."

"He was the evil referee, Mom; he kept cheating the real winners out of their matches over and over," Timmy matter-of-factually explained.

"A real pro we have here," Tunney commended the boy, "But it was worse than that, actually, Mrs. Kane. Davis had ties with the mob, we found out; they were paying him to put their men over. Too many territories let crimelords run the show over the years; my uncle didn't believe in that, and neither do I. So once I got enough evidence of his payoffs, I promptly banned him for life. Unfortunately, our bylaws didn't say he couldn't wrestle with a lifetime refereeing ban, so now you probably see him in action every Saturday with Jimmy Hart's stable, to..."

"HERE WE GO!" Timmy shouted excitedly as Ax draped a limp Tama across his knee and tagged his partner. Smash climbed up to the top rope and jumped, pounding Tama in the face to the mat, then covering him for the pin. "The winners of this bout, and STIIIIIIILLL World Wrestling Federation Tag Team Champions, Demolition!" Finkel grandly proclaimed as the champs hefted their belts confidently and strutted back up the aisle. Eddie passed them on the way back down. "Hogan's out front now, Jack; he's insisting he's OK to come right in," he told the president.

"He comes nowhere near this ring until he gets a complete checkup by my staff, world champion or not," Tunney said firmly, "Hold him backstage after the next match; I have to be here at ringside to maintain something resembling order with Jake and Randy about to go at it. I'll go back to get the official word on him once this is over."

* * *

><p>"You're a killer, yeah, a snake killer, yeah, and you're going to skin that Snake alive tonight, OOOOOOOOOOH YEAH!" a pumped up Savage glared firmly at his reflection in the dressing room mirror, his silver, star-spangled ring robe for the evening held out wide around him, "He's goin' down, goin' down harder than anyone's ever gone down before; a hundred years from now, his decendants'll STILL be feelin' what I do to him tonight, yeah!"<p>

"Well, please just promise me, Randy, you won't lose control at any point, please?" a worried Elizabeth sided up alongside him, now decked out in a matching silver dress accentuated with white arm-length gloves, "Remember what I always teach my pupils: you need to keep your head on your shoulders in the heat of a match to keep improving yourself in the ring. Yes, Jake Roberts needs to be taught a lesson, but please don't become him to do it."

"Can't make any guarantees tonight," Savage shook his head softly, "I can't shake the sight of him shoving you down, then throwing you out of the ring, and nobody does that to the wife and manager of the Macho Man, nobody!" His tone dropped noticeably. "But, for the best manager in all of wrestling, I could try my best," he conceded, stroking her hair.

"Please try," she put an arm around him, then flashed him a smile, "But of course go ahead and win."

"Less than two minutes till your entrance, Mr. and Mrs. Savage," a crewman stuck his head in the dressing room door.

"Ready?" the Macho Man asked his wife.

"Ready if you are," she nodded.

"Then let's do some snake hunting, yeah!" Savage bustled to the door. "Whoa, hold it a minute," he abruptly held up his hand to Elizabeth, gesturing at Roberts and Sherri passing by directly outside, heading straight towards Okerlund at the interview area right in front of the entrance to the arena. "Better wait till they're done, yeah," Savage said out loud. The two of them leaned around the door and watched their opponents get in position by Okerlund. The interviewer perked up as the cue was given through his earpiece. "All right, Jake 'the Snake' Roberts, I see you seem to be set for your match with Randy Savage tonight, but Sensational Sherri, what praytell are you doing here? You're not Jake the Snake's manager..."

"First off, Okerlund you fat fool," Sherri roughly cut in, "I have a bargain with Jake that I help him against the so-called Macho Man, who tonight will be taught the ultimate lesson about failing one's teacher..."

"Now wait just a minute, Sensational Sherri, none of us can forget you roughly attacking the Macho Man following his world title match with Hulk Hogan a while back; if anyone needs to be taught a lesson..."

"Secondly," she cut in again, "Ever since I fired him, people have been saying some very unflattering things about me in relation to that slut Elizabeth. When her man is down and broken at the end of tonight's match, the whole world will know I'm a better manager than she can ever hope to be."

Okerlund sputtered at the hateful statement. Before he could get a word in, Roberts seized hold of the mike. "In my own words," he said softly, a dark look coming over his face, "Randy Savage, when you made the mistake of treading on my path, you should have known you were going to get bitten. Tonight, it will do me distinct pleasure to finish what I started not long ago."

"But let's examine the rules that have been laid down, Jake Roberts, namely that you have been catagorically banned from ever bringing that cobra to ringside again," Okerlund reminded him, "Furthermore, WWF President Jack Tunney has stated very clearly in agreeing to sign this match that if you cause any injury to the lovely Elizabeth whatsoever during the match, you will receive a year's suspension without pay."

"You know, the simplest code I live by is this: if you keep playing with a snake, you're going to get bitten in the end. Jack Tunney, that's exactly what you're doing by trying to exert your influence over my career," Roberts was almost laughing now, "But the point is, brother, a snake goes by his own path; no one can influence him one way or the other. You may not like it, but there sure isn't anything you can do about it. And Tunney, so you know, anything that does happen out there tonight, well, it will be because YOU pushed me to do it, as did Randy Savage and his so-called First Lady of Wrestling. So regardless of what you say, what happens tonight happens. Trust me," he laughed coldly, "Trust me..."

"OK, that's all I need to hear; please, go, both of you," looked repulsed, Okerlund waved them both towards the curtain, "Vince, I think the Macho Man and Elizabeth have a pair of genuine loose cannons across the ring from them tonight; let's hope the two of them can come out of it in one piece. Back to you."

"Wait a minute," Savage told his wife, waiting until their foes disappeared behind the curtain before mumbling, "OK." The two of them approached the interview position as Finkel's voice echoed in the arena, "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Coming down the aisle, accompanied this evening by Sensational Sherri, from Stone Mountain, Georgia, weighing 249 pounds, here is Jake 'the Snake' Roberts!" "Rough one, Gene?" Savage knowingly asked the commentator as they reached their predetermined spots for their promo.

"I'll admit readily, Macho, those two make me nervous," Okerlund shivered, "Why Roberts hasn't been banned for life, especially in the wake of what he did to you and Elizabeth, I rightly can't tell."

"Some people just never learn, I suppose," Elizabeth guessed, watching on the overhead monitor as Tunney approached Roberts before he could enter the ring. The WWF president forcefully pointed at the green bag slung over Roberts' shoulder and mimed opening it with a stern expression. Visibly fuming at the order, Roberts nonetheless complied, dumping Damien onto the ring apron and shaking the bag to prove the cobra wasn't inside as well. Satisfied, Tunney gestured for him to put Damien back in the bag and visibly mouthed for him not to touch the bag again until the match was over. Okerlund stood upright again as he got the cue to proceed again. "All right, we're here now with the Macho Man Randy Savage and the lovely Elizabeth, who no doubt have not forgotten everything Jake the Snake did to them the last time they were face to face with him. Macho Man, it must have been a nightmare beyond words to have the poison flowing through your veins from that cobra."

"Well it did, Mean Gene," Savage grumbled loudly, "It was a living hell beyond any words I could describe to the younger viewers out there watching this interview. But the one thing I remember most of all was that cold-blooded reptile hitting Elizabeth across the face and throwing her out of the ring like she meant nothing. And THAT hurt me more than anything that cobra could have done. So tonight, Jake Roberts, you're going to feel MY poison-the poison of Macho Madness, and there ain't no way you're walking out of that ring in one piece once it starts flowing through your veins, yeah! Elizabeth, down that aisle; we're going into the Danger Zone, OOOOOOOOH YEAH!"

Pomp and Circumstance rose up, along with the cheers, as they pushed through the curtain and up the aisle. "His opponent," Finkel continued over the cheers, "Coming down the aisle with his manager, the First Lady of Wrestling, Elizabeth, from Sarasota, Florida, weighing 239 pounds, Randy "Macho Man" Savage!"

"A standing ovation for the Macho Man, and oh wow, Elizabeth just looks lovelier each and every time we see her, especially with what looks like a stunning new diamond necklace for tonight," McMahon proclaimed.

"Well if you're that infatuated with her, MacMahon, why don't you just go marry her?" Ventura grumbled.

"Unfortunately, the Macho Man beat me to it, Jesse, but that doesn't distract at all from the positive role she plays in the career of Randy Savage."

"Positive? The little sneak stole him out from under Sensational Sherri, a much better manager..."

"No way, Ventura; even if Sherri managed ten men at once, none of them would do as good as the Macho Man has with Elizabeth. And the two of them now approaching the ring..."

Savage kept a weary eye on Roberts as they rounded the ring towards the steps; after what had happened last time, better safe than sorry. He gently took hold of Elizabeth's hand as she started up the stairs. "Nope; don't want you in there with him," he shook his head.

"Oh, is baby afraid of the big, bad snake?" Roberts taunted her as she indeed stepped back down to the floor.

"The question is, is the Snake afraid of the Madness!" Savage charged full-tilt into the ring at Roberts, sending him and Sherri bailing out of the ring. Savage triumphantly climbed the turnbuckle to massive applause and pointed sharply at his glaring foes. He raised his hand high for a higher applause-then suddenly leaped off the top rope, delivering his patented flying elbow square to Roberts's head. "OOOOh yeah, Jake the Snake feeling the Madness already!" McMahon all but cheered from the broadcast position, "Savage picks him up, slams him hard into the ring post; he is a man possessed tonight."

"And I think that's what's going to cost him the match, McMahon; he's not thinking straight, he's completely out for revenge, and sooner or later, he's going to make a tremendous mistake that Jake the Snake will capitalize on."

"Perhaps, but right now it's all Macho Man as he rolls Jake the Snake back into the ring; he still hasn't take off his ring gear yet. Savage now taking Roberts by the hair, he's giving the signal, and here he goes-AAAAAAAALLL RIIIIIIIGHT!" McMahon declared as Savage charged to the far ropes and dove over, all while pressing Roberts' throat into the top rope as he jumped, causing the Snake to sharply snap backwards onto his back in the center of the ring. Savage immediately climbed up to the top rope and dropped another elbow on his foe and started for the cover, but pulled Roberts back up at one with a shake of the head and pounded his head hard into the canvas. He then tossed Roberts hard into the turnbuckle and splashed him, then flung him clean out of the ring. "Macho Man on fire right now!" McMahon proclaimed as Savage only now removed his robe, shades, and headband, "Jake the Snake is starting to regret ever signing this match for sure. Savage now climbing up to the drop rope again, here comes another elbow-ooooh, but Roberts lets him have in the chest..."

"That'll buy Roberts some time," Ventura quipped. Roberts indeed crawled around on the mats for a moment to catch his breath from the onslaught he'd been put through before seizing the stunned Savage by the beard and slamming him into the ringpost. Looking more confident now, the Snake stomped on his opponent a few times before rolling him into the ring. He slithered between the ropes and dropped the elbow on Savage. He then picked him up, flung him into the ropes, and kicked him hard in the face. "A look of concern on the face of the lovely Elizabeth now as Jake Roberts continues to turn the tide in the matchup," McMahon continued, "Roberts now picks him up-what a bodyslam! Roberts now bouncing off the ropes, he goes airborne-and he misses! Macho Man staggering to his feet, the capacity crowd here urging him on! He falls on top of Jake the Snake; here's a cover...no, only two. Randy Savage hurls Jake Roberts hard into the corner, jumps on his back, a series of punches to the face...but a rake of the eyes by Jake the Snake, who shoves him backwards. Roberts stomps in Savage's face; these two are going at it tooth and nail."

"Definitely no love lost between these two, McMahon, that's for sure."

"Jake drags Macho Man to the corner, and now he starts pulling his head backwards against the bottom rope; come on ref, break it!"

"I don't think the ref needs to worry about it, McMahon; Jake might just break it himself if he pulls hard enough."

"That's not funny at all, Jesse! Roberts now dragging him back towards the center of...wait a minute, Savage pulls him into a small package; one, two...no, a last minute kickout by Jake the Snake. Macho Man now up on his feet again, twirling his finger; kicks Roberts in the back! Now he hurls him into the corner again; big splash on the Snake. Now Savage with a series of elbows; Roberts looks groggy from...wait a minute, Elizabeth; Sherri coming over and shoving Elizabeth outside the ring! Randy Savage coming over and breaking that up, oh yeah!"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" an incensed Savage roared at his former manager after he pulled her away from his current one, "What's going on here, huh!?"

"What's going on, Randykins? THIS," Sherri gave him a hard shove into the barriers, then reeled off a series of kicks to her former protege's chest. "Sensational Sherri on a total rampage against the Macho Man; come on ref, get her out of here!" a furious McMahon barked over the airwaves.

"Well now, McMahon, you can see exactly why I think Sherri's the better manager; she can actually do something to help her man; Elizabeth, she just stands there and looks pretty all match long," Ventura dryly opined.

"How can you call Sherri better when she was just attacking Elizabeth for no good reason before...oh no, off the top rope, Jake the Snake doing his own version of the flying elbow into Randy Savage's chest!" Mcmahon grimaced, "A confident smile on Roberts's face as he hauls the Macho Man around the ring to the timekeeper's table; smashes his face into the ring bell! And now the same thing on the ring steps; this man is seriously demented!"

"He's just doing whatever it takes to win, McMahon; isn't that what I always say?"

"But not like this, not this brutally to...OH NO, Jake Roberts picks Randy Savage up and drops him throat-first onto the barrier!" McMahon grimaced harder, "Savage gasping for air as he's now picked up and-oh no, piledriver right onto those steel steps!" Roberts bleeding arrogant confidence now as he rolls Randy Savage into the ring..."

"I think the end is near now, McMahon; Jake looks ready to bring the match home."

"Short but hard clothesline now by Jake the Snake, and you know what that sets up..."

"Yep, it's DDT time, kids, and that's all they wrote for the Macho Man."

"Roberts not going for the DDT, though; he's glaring towards Elizabeth, he'd better not...oh no, he's not going to...oh no, he is; he's coming after Elizabeth!" he gasped as Roberts, a cold smile on his face, slid out of the ring and began ominously striding towards her, "Jake the Snake is going to come after Elizabeth! Sensational Sherri closing in on the other side; they have her trapped! What are they going to do to her this time, Jesse!?"

"Maybe nothing, McMahon, so don't get so worked up already."

"Nothing!? Look at the look on Jake the Snake's face; he smells blood! He's closing in on Elizabeth; somebody stop this, please! Wait a minute, Macho Man climbing the apron; here he comes...!"

In a flash, Savage leaped and delivered a hard elbow to Roberts, sending the Snake crashing down to the the mats inches from his wife. His eyes burning with rage, the Macho Man picked his foe up and smashed Roberts' face into the side of the ring repeatedly, pushing Sherri away when she tried to pull him off, then turned and repeated the smashing against the ring barriers. "Now this should be an automatic disqualification for Macho; he's completely out of control here," Ventura griped.

"Why!? He was only helping Elizabeth. Randy Savage smashes Jake Roberts into the steps now..."

"And you really don't think what Macho's doing here is out of line, McMahon!? Don't you have the slightest bit of sympathy for Jake Roberts as he gets beaten to a pulp here!?"

"None whatsoever, Jesse; after the way he manhandled Elizabeth last time, he deserves no mercy whatsoever as far as I'm concerned. Savage back in the ring, OVER THE TOP ROPE AGAIN, AND ROBERTS GOES FLYING BACKWARDS AGAIN!" he roared in delight, "Savage now climbing up to the top rope, here comes the big elbow-wait a minute, Sherri coming up from behind with a steel chair; look out...!"

But it was too late; Sherri jumped up on the apron and roughly bashed Savage in the back in full view of the referee before he could jump, sending him sprawling to the mat. The bell rang loudly. "What a cold-hearted, despicable move by Sensational Sherri!" McMahon expressed his outrage, "She had no business up there in the first place, and then goes and does this to the man whose praises she once sung loudly...!"

"Well it's not her fault Savage fell short, McMahon; I'd..."

"Wait a minute, Roberts has the steel chair now; Randy Savage is in trouble if he doesn't...oh no!" McMahon groaned as Roberts hit Savage with a series of hard chair blows of his own. The bell continued ringing as the referee pulled Roberts away from his opponent and started shouting at him to put the chair down immediately. Roberts started shouting back that no one told him what to do...and thus wasn't watching as Savage rolled out of the ring, grabbed another steel chair, charged back in with an insane expression and let Roberts have it in the back to a tremendous ovation. Staggering, Roberts spun around and swung back, and soon the two of them were in a pitched chair battle as the bell continued ringing and Finkel announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout, as the result of a disqualification, Randy 'Macho Man' Savage!" But neither Savage nor Roberts seemed to hear the decision and in fact continued trading hard chair shots all the way down the aisle out of the ring and through the curtain. "Tremendous ending to a tremendous match between these two bitter rivals, and it's clear the war is far from over yet," McMahon concluded, "We're going to take another short break, and when we come back, God willing, we will get the main event of the evening, Hulk Hogan hopefully fit enough to make his long awaited title defense against Nature Boy Ric Flair; stay tuned!"


	7. Chapter 7

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Real American lyrics are registered trademarks for Rick Derringer and all other applicable persons and/or institutions.

* * *

><p>"I told you, I'm perfectly all right!" Hulk protested for at least the fifth time to the doctors examining him in the locker room. "President Tunney," he greeted him as Tunney came in through the door, "I'm just fine..."<p>

"What's your analysis, gentlemen?" Tunney asked the doctors.

"Well, it appears Mr. Hogan is in reasonable enough shape for someone who consumed poison a few hours ago," the head doctor explained, "There will be some more pain, and there is some concern over the possibility he could pass out in the ring if he exerts himself too much..."

"How big of a percentage?"

"Thirty percent, our best guess would be..."

"See, I'm good enough," Hulk cut in, "Please, Mr. Tunney, I promised that boy sitting next to you tonight that I'd win for him; I can't let him down. I promised him..."

Tunney sighed softly and pinched his fingers to his nose. "All right, Hulk," he conceded, "But I'll be watching you in there, and if it appears you're incapable of going on at any point, I'm stopping the match, which means Flair wins the title. You do understand that?"

"Yes," the champion nodded, "But I came here to fight to retain the title."

"Very well. Better get in position, then; you're on in about two minutes," Tunney told him solemnly, "We're running a little heavy tonight, so we'll have to forego the interview before you enter; try and finish the match in eight minutes if you can."

"I'll try, Mr. President," Hulk agreed. He stood up and followed Tunney out the locker room door up the hall towards the entrance curtain. The sounds of familiar voices rose up around the final turn to the aisle. "...told you not to lose control, Randy," Elizabeth sounded glumly disappointed.

"He was gonna attack you or worse on national TV; nobody lays a hand on you in anger as long as there's a drop of blood in my body," Savage defended himself, holding an icepack to the oversized bump on his head, "And he hit me with the chair first, remember, both him and that witch?"

"Yes, I do; I just hope we're not fined for retalliating; Mr. Tunney," she looked worried as the company president approached, "You're not going to..."

"No, Elizabeth, there won't be a fine," Tunney shook his head, "I can understand actions in self-defense. But Randy, she does have a point; in the future, try and bring the anger levels down a tad if someone wrongs you; you want to set a positive example for the kids out there who consider you..."

"Right, right, I know," Savage nodded quickly, still grimacing from the chair shots, "But I ain't done with that snake Jake yet; when I get my hands on him next time...!"

"Let it go for now, Randy; you can't dwell on Jake 24/7," Bret approached from behind, "If it helps, looks like he'll need some ice too; he's been moaning in agony all the way to the infirmary for...Hulk," he noticed the champion, "You're not actually going to try and..."

"I promised Timmy, Hitman, it's for him," Hulk insisted.

"Someday, Hulk, you're going to get in way over your head with these promises," Bret shook his head softly. "Mr. Tunney," he turned to the president, "I don't think..."

"I've already given him the go-ahead, Bret," Tunney shook his head in turn, "But I will stop the match if he can't go on."

"I'm not quitting, not for anything," Hulk vowed firmly. Tunney merely gave him an almost pittied look before approaching the curtain, where Flair and Blassie were already in place, and gestured at them to head on out. The two of them strode confidently through the curtain as the bell rang. "Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is for the World Wrestling Federation World Heavyweight Championship!" Finkel announced over the loudspeaker. After given a moment for applause, he continued, "It is scheduled for one fall. First, the challenger, coming to the ring, accompanied by his manager, Classy Freddie Blassie, from Charlotte, North Carolina, weighing 242 pounds, here is the self-proclaimed Real World's Champion, Ric Flair!"

"WOOOO!" Flair proclaimed, spinning in place in the aisle grandly to intense booing. "A very lackluster greeting for Ric Flair, who so far has shown more flash than talent," McMahon dryly remarked.

"Now how can you say that, McMahon? Flair has burned up all the competition both here in the WWF and elsewhere; he's worked good and hard to earn this title shot," Ventura shot back.

"You can think what you want, Jesse, but as you can see, a good majority of the people here disagree with your assessment," his broadcast partner retorted, turning the microphone to the crowd to amplify for the home viewers the booing as Flair climbed into the ring and spun grandly again to another "WOOOOO!" Oblivious to the boos, the challenger nonchalantly removed his robe and handed his Real World Championship belt to Blassie, who raised it high to even more boos. "Ric Flair, almost unanimously turned down by this crowd. And now, this place is about to erupt..." McMahon predicted.

Backstage, Hulk took a deep breath. "Don't risk yourself in there, Hulk; nothing's more important than your health," Bret gave him one last word of advice as his colleague's theme song roared up on the speakers, followed by a deafening cheer.

"Trust me, Hitman, I'll be fine," Hulk firmly assured him, and bustled quickly through the curtain. The arena erupted at his presence. "And his opponent; from Venice Beach California, weighing 303 pounds, here is the World Wrestling Federation Champion, the Immortal Hulk Hogan!" Finkel proclaimed.

"A standing ovation for the Hulkster, who looks determined to give Flair the fight of his life despite everything he's gone through this evening!" McMahon declared as Hulk charged towards the ring, albeit while doubling over slightly halfway there, to the familiar tune: "I am a real American, fight for the rights of every man. I am a real American; fight for what's right, fight for your life..."

"Which, I may add, I think is the stupidest thing the man has ever done, and believe me, with Hogan, that's saying something," Ventura snorted, "He is in no shape to be in the ring from what I've heard of what he went through this afternoon, and I predict Flair'll have him pinned in two minutes flat or less."

"The champion now in the ring, showing Flair and Blassie the genuine world title belt," McMahon ignored his broadcast partner, "If they want it, they'll have to all but kill him to get it...oh yeah!" he cheered as Hulk emphatically ripped his T-shirt to a loud cheer, then tossed both it and his head bandanna into the crowd, "Hulk Hogan, looking in good shape for this match."

"I don't think so; I think he's already sweating; see, look?"

"That's adrenaline, I do believe, Jesse, it's Hulkamania running wild. Hogan and Flair now sizing each other up," he paused briefly while the bell rang to start the match, "Ric Flair looking extremely confident, now raising his arm and gesturing the Hulkster to come and get him. Hulk storms over and here we go for the world championship! Hogan grabs Flair's wrist; the two of them locking up, trying to get the advantage in this test of strength. Both of them moving backwards towards the ropes, looking evenly matched in this regard...OOOOOOOH, what a cheap shot by Ric Flair!" he complained as Flair abruptly sucker-punched Hulk in the chest, then flattened him to the mat with a hard chop. "WOOOOO!" Flair proclaimed again, mimmicking putting on a belt to the crowd.

"Oh I see, everything done to Hogan is a cheap shot, and everything he does to everyone else, no matter how brutal, is perfectly legal," Ventura complained, "And you call ME a biased commentator, McMahon?"

"I'm just going by what the official WWF rulebook says, Jesse, and what Flair just did was completely illegal-what a suplex now by Flair!" he exclaimed as the challenger delivered a particularly hard one to Hulk in the center of the ring, "Here's a cover, this could be the title change...no, Hulk kicks out at the last second."

"Hogan's completely out of it so far, McMahon; if I were him, I might want to just consider giving in now and avoiding any worse damage from Flair," Ventura smirked as Flair shoved Hulk into the ropes and flattened him with another hard chop to the face.

"You know, Jesse, I think I've finally figured out why you hate Hulk Hogan so much," McMahon spoke up, "I think I know exactly why you rant and rave about his supposed insufficiencies and imagined misdeeds every time the two of us are together on this program."

"Oh have you? Well enlighten me, McMahon."

"It's quite simple; I think you're still bitter that you suffered that career-ending injury a few years back when you were in line to be the number one contender to the title, and so you take out your frustration here on the mike against Hulk Hogan and anyone connected with him because he reminds you of what you could have been had fate been kinder to you."

"How very intuitive of you, McMahon, but the title of this program is Saturday Night's Main Event, not Psychoanalysis Tonight, so please keep your commentary relevant on the match; you're making me look bad."

"Oh I'm making YOU look bad, Jesse? Another hard shot to the ribs by Ric Flair, and the champion is reeling..."

"Yes, you make me look bad through your patently biased commentary, McMahon. And for your information, don't think I haven't noticed that Hogan isn't above outright cheating to retain his title whenever necessary; I've seen him bite people for instance, it's on tape, and..."

"Wait a minute, Hulk Hogan with an elbow to the chest!" McMahon proclaimed, ignoring Ventura again, "Whips Flair to the turnbuckle; oh yeah, big splash! Now up on his shoulders and punching away: three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Ric Flair suddenly finding the tide turning-oh yeah!" he roared as a dazed Flair walked a few steps out of the corner, then fell flat on his face. "Hogan with the cover, this is it! One, two...!"

"No it ain't it," Ventura sneered as Flair kicked out at the last possible second.

"Hogan now with the moment, flips Flair into the ropes; big kick to the face! And now he's...wait a minute, Hogan swaying a bit, looking a little dizzy..."

And indeed, the ring was starting to sway from Hulk's point of view. He shut his eyes briefly to try and regain his composure. He bounced into the ropes to drop the leg on the still down Flair, but was abruptly tripped by Blassie when his former manager grabbed his leg without warning. "What's the matter, Hogan, out of it already?" the Classy One taunted him-or at least the both of him that Hulk saw in front of them. He swung at both Blassies and missed, falling flat on his stomach. Blassie casually rolled him over onto his back. "Quick, Ric, on the chest as hard as you can!" he called to his new protege, holding Hulk's shoulders down despite the champion's attempt to rise up. Flair stumbled over, leaped in the air, and...

"Flair hard down on Hogan's chest!" McMahon grimaced, "And again! The Hulkster grimacing in pain from the blows...blatant chokehold! A blatant chokehold by Flair!"

"Hey, he's got to the count of five to break it, McMahon."

"Flair choking again after the break! Hogan can't do a thing; Blassie's holding him down; come on, ref, get in there and stop this!"

"Well what's he supposed to do; they're following the rules, McMahon, not like Hogan..."

"You call a double-teaming like this legal, Jesse! Blassie has no business interfering in this match whatsoever!"

"Well all I can say is the man really wants his title back, so you can't blame him if he accidentally gets slightly overzealous; I'd do the same..."

Hulk let out a loud cry of agony as Flair jumped hard on his chest again. The blows had started the pain up again, and thus he clutched his chest hard as he tried to crawl away. Flair heaved him up, flung him into the opposing ropes and gave him a hard chop right to the chest that doubled the champion over in pain. "That's good, that's good!" Blassie congratulated him, "Now go for the leg and soften him up for the close!"

Without warning, Flair kicked Hulk's leg out from under him, sending him toppling to the mat. "WOOOO!" he shouted yet again before stomping hard and repeatedly on the leg. Hulk gritted his teeth to keep from crying out; anything to keep Tunney from following through on his proposition to call the match. But the pain got worse in his leg too once Flair started twisting it hard as well. "Ric Flair doing a number on Hulk Hogan's leg!" McMahon followed the action, "And now Flair hooking it over the lower rope near the corner and...wait, what's he doing? Flair climbing up to the top rope; no, get him down from there; this could be career-ending if he-oh no...!"

But he had no control over Flair leaping off the top rope right on top of Hulk's leg with his full weight, prompting still yet another, "WOOOOOO!" "Ric Flair, trying systematically to end the career of Hulk Hogan here on national television, and it appears, unfortunately, he may be succeeding," McMahon lamented, "Hogan in visible pain, grabbing the leg, which has really taken a beating in the last few minutes...wait a minute, Blassie grabbing the leg while Flair distracts the referee; no, no, no!" McMahon's pleas were again for naught as Blassie slammed Hulk's leg hard into the ring post, then whacked it hard with his cane for good measure and made a slashing gesture across his throat at Flair. Grinning darkly, Flair grabbed Hulk by the injured leg and dragged him out to the center of the ring by it, coldly ignoring Hulk's groans of agony from this. "Ric Flair with still yet another hard stomp to the leg," McMahon continued the commentary, "Now another stomp, this one to the groin, followed by another one there..."

"This is it, McMahon, here comes the Figure Four Leglock; we're about to see the change of the title right now..."

"Flair it looks like, yes, he's going for the leglock...but what a kickout by Hogan!" McMahon exclaimed as Hulk abruptly kicked Flair hard into the turnbuckle. He tried to crawl across the ring, but Blassie reached in and seized the injured leg. "Going somewhere?" the champion's former manager sneered, pulling the leg hard under the ropes and causing a fresh shot of pain for Hulk there. The referee stormed over and yelled at Blassie to let go, which he immediately did, but a recovered Flair rushed over and stomped on the leg some more before seizing hold of it again and dragging Hulk back to the middle of the ring. Hulk knew full well what was coming; the Figure Four Leglock was among the most dangerous holds in the sport, and although more than a few wrestlers used it-Tito for instance often used it to finish his opponents-Flair was the undisputed master of the move by every account. And before he could do anything, it was already too late: Flair had slapped the hold on him and was pulling on his legs for all it was worth. Extreme pain shot up Hulk's bent leg. "I'm not quitting!" he roared to the referee when the man bent down to question him on that very matter, grimacing harder as Blassie took the official's distraction to seize Flair's free hand and pull himself from outside the ring. "Pour it on, Ric, pour it on!" the Classy One was all but cheering in delight, maneuvering his man's hand towards the ropes, which Flair then grabbed for extra leverage. "WOOOO!" Flair let out another yell of delight, letting go of the ropes when the referee glared at him, then grabbing them again when the man looked away. Just about every ounce of Hulk's body was in agony. He glanced to Tunney's seat, where the company president was shaking his head and then stood up, clearly about to tell the referee to stop the match. He then looked to the right at Timmy, looking deathly worried. He couldn't give up, not for this boy who wanted to wrestle but couldn't...


	8. Chapter 8

...and suddenly, he felt it: that rush of adrenaline that signaled a new burst of strength. Slowly, he started rising up into a sitting position, making Flair's confident expression immediately evaporate. Shaking wildly, Hulk gave his legs a hard crack, which broke the hold and sent a stunned Flair flying backwards into the turnbuckle. "He did it! The Hulkster just broke the Figure Four Leglock; that's got to be a first against Ric Flair!" a delighted McMahon exclaimed, "Hulk Hogan now rising to his feet; the tide is quickly turning the other way, and he looks like what he was just put through didn't hurt him at all!"

Hulk's legs DID hurt, to be sure, but the pain was deadened somewhat by the rush of adrenaline that was pouring through his blood-enough to let him finish the match. And the tremendous cheer he was getting from the sellout crowd was making him stronger still-so much so that he hardly felt a thing when Flair clobbered him across the back of the head with a tremendous shot. He slowly turned with a wild expression and shook a finger in a stunned and now terrified Flair's face. "Don't just stand there, you fool; get out of there, now!" Blassie all but shrieked to his man, "He's about to turn it on...!"

But it was too late, an energized Hulk delivered a kick to Flair's chest, then flung him into the ropes and delivered a harder kick that sent the Nature Boy spiraling to the canvas. Waving his arms wildly to get the crowd even more into it, the champion heaved his opponent up and delivered a punishing body slam. All that was needed now was the finisher...

"GET UP!" a hysterical Blassie screamed to his protege as Hulk charged for the ropes directly opposite of the Classy One, "GET UP NOW OR IT'S ALL OVER!"

But Flair remained down as Hulk went airborne over him and dropped the leg hard on him. He hooked the leg and held on for dear life as the referee slid into position and started counting one...two...three. A carnal cheer went up as the bell rang. "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout, and STIIIIIIIILLL World Wrestling Federation World Heavyweight Champion, HULK HOGAN!" Finkel grandly declared.

"A tremendous victory for Hulk Hogan if there ever was one!" McMahon proudly proclaimed as the champion happily took the belt from the referee as his theme music came up loud and raised it high to another loud cheer, all while hopping on his good leg.

"Well all I have to say is that Hogan was extremely lucky he caught that second wind when he did," a bitter Ventura grumbled, "But the good thing is, he can't stay lucky forever; sooner or later, he's going to lose the belt to somebody, and it just might be Flair across from him then too."

"Perhaps, but right now, the Hulkster gets to celebrate another successful title defense for...wait a minute, what's Flair doing?" he frowned, noticing the Nature Boy crawling back to his corner and a fuming Blassie, "Freddie Blassie now just handing Ric Flair his Real World's Champion belt; Flair folds the straps in, he's...no, wait a minute, he's not going to..." his expression went wider as a furious Flair raised his belt over his head in an offensive position and started forward, "Oh no, he is! Turn around, Hulk, turn...!"

Hulk didn't turn around...but he did abruptly turn to the side unexpectedly at the last moment, causing Flair to charge right by him into the ropes-and the force of his rush made them snap him back hard across the ring, straight into Blassie, who'd climbed up on the apron for a better look, sending both of them flying to the mats outside. The crowd roared in laughter at the botched attack. "Shut up, you pencil-neck geeks!" an upset Blassie bellowed at them, "Come on Ric, let's get out of here."

"Hey, Flair," Hulk climbed up to the top of the nearest turnbuckle and triumphantly held the world championship belt over them, "Better luck next time."

"And you can bet there will be a next time, Hogan!" Blassie snarled angrily at him, waving his cane menacingly at his former diciple, "I don't care what it takes, I WILL have MY belt back in the end, and you'll be too humiliated to ever step foot in the ring again when I get through with you! Out of my way, pencil-neck geeks, out of my way!"

He shoved security personnel out of the way as he and Flair stormed up the aisle to the locker rooms, visibly fuming. Hulk paid no attention and cupped his hands to his ears, soaking in the applause. But there was also one thing he wanted to do before Saturday Night's Main Event went off the air for the evening-and looking at the timekeeper's table, he had about two minutes to do it in.

Hobbling to the side of the ring, he reached down, ignoring the pain in his ribs when he bent over, and fished the nearest microphone out of its holder. "Everyone," he spoke up, making the crowd go more or less quiet, "I'd like to thank you all for coming down tonight to watch this match," he flashed a thumbs-up to his fellow Mega Power teammates, whom he'd noticed had gathered by the curtains to view the match while it had been going on, "I know you all consider me a great champion, and I appreciate that. But not every champion gets to hold a belt; not every champion gets to be in the center of attention. Tonight's match, I dedicated to a certain young man who, depsite not looking much like a champion, is one as far as the Hulkster and his friends are concerned. And I'd like all of you, and everyone at home, to meet him right now. Come on up here, Timmy."

He gestured to the boy, whose eyes went wide with delight at being singled out by the world's champion. An agreeing Tunney lifted him over the railing and gestured for security to help him into the ring. "Everyone, Timmy Kane," Hulk continued, putting a hand on his young friend's shoulders, "He may not be in the right condition to wrestle like I do, but I can tell his heart is pure, and along with the prayers, the training, and the vitamins, there's nothing more you can ask for out of a person. So Timmy, this win was for you. So everyone give this kid a big hand."

The arena rose to its feet and indeed gave a standing ovation. "How about that," an awed McMahon proclaimed, "the Hulkster taking a moment to give that young man a moment in the sun; now that, Jesse, is the mark of a true champion."

"Well I personally find it nauseating, McMahon," Ventura grumbled, turning towards the audience so he wouldn't have to look at what was going on in the ring, "As far as I'm concerned, this is just Hogan showboating again; I'll bet you any amount of money he's paid the kid to do this to burnish his inflated ego."

"No way, Ventura; look, that young man's crying in joy," McMahon gestured at the ring, then let it go when it was clear Ventura wasn't going to look, "And Hogan now giving him the world championship belt...wait a minute, here come the rest of the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection," he exclaimed, seeing the rest of them (Mathilda included) coming up the aisle towards the ring, "Now how's that for making one's evening; not only do you get to see all your favorite heroes in action, but then they call you into the...aaaaaaaalll right!" he proclaimed as Hulk eagerly lifted Timmy, still clutching the belt, up onto an obliging Andre's shoulders, "A magic moment if there ever was one!"

"Yeah, now if I can just find the vomit bag, because I'm going to be sick," Ventura complained, rooting around on the floor of the broadcast position.

"You're impossible, Jesse Ventura; you have no sense of good taste whatsoever," his broadcast partner chided him, "And that will just about do it for us, folks," he told the audience watching on TV, letting out an applause of his own as Hulk and his colleagues took a bow in unison for the crowd, "Next on the World Wrestling Federation's broadcast schedule is Summer Slam next month; our next broadcast here on NBC will be immediately following Labor Day weekend, as we've been told now, so join us then; till next time, for Jesse Ventura," he frowned deeply at the Body, still firmly turned from the ring and with his hands now jammed over his ears so he couldn't hear the crowd at all, "I'm Vince McMahon; on behalf of WWF President Jack Tunney and Saturday Night's Main Event, good night everyone."

* * *

><p>"Well, look at it this way, Freddie; this technically counts as a basic win," Heenan tried to spin it for Blassie from the managers' position behind the curtain, watching Hulk and his friends take another bow, "Ric basically got the submission; it's not your fault the ref can't ring the bell when..."<p>

"Shut up, Bobby!" a still outraged Blassie smacked the Brain over the head with his cane, "This was a loss no matter how you try and spin it, and I can't stand another loss to Hogan! If I have to see him holding that belt one more second, I'm going to rip someone's throat out!"

"Sorry, mine's insured," Heenan hastily backed away.

"Better not answer the phone, tonight, any of you; Vincenelli's going to be steamed at any rate," Sherri lamented bitterly, "And something tells me however Summer Slam gets booked, the belt's not going to be on the line then; seems it usually isn't for Summer Slam anyway."

"Well, it doesn't need to be on the line for me to get back at Hogan," Blassie fumed, pacing in circles, "If I cripple him so he can't defend it..."

"Well, let's wait and see how the card pans out," Bearer offered, cradling his urn close, "Depending who Hogan draws, we can go from there."

"Exactly, Freddie; we can try our strengths once we know who he'll be facing then," Jimmy added, "In the meantime, let's go make ourselves scarce just in case Vincenelli's mad enough to send his top gunmen out."

"I've got just the place; the Come On Inn out on Highway 123," Heenan rubbed his hands, "Tonight's Five Cent Beer Night, and they have loads of easy women at the patron's beckon; Vincenelli would never think of looking for us there if he calls for our heads."

"You always couldn't keep your mind off beer and women, could you?" Bearer raised a knowing eyebrow.

"Fine by me; I need to get smashed after this kind of loss anyway. Let's go," Blassie waved them after him. He paused at the back door and glared back at Hulk and his entourage streaming out towards the locker room. "Next time, Hogan," he muttered under his breath as he stepped outside with his cohorts, "Next time..."

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
